


The Possibility of Impossibilities

by lfg1986, ThatAj



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Humor, M/M, Man Out of Time, Pining, world swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lfg1986/pseuds/lfg1986, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAj/pseuds/ThatAj
Summary: Two worlds, 4 lives, one fateful switch.Elio and Oliver spend their last night together in Bergamo, wishing time would stop and let them hold onto each other just a little longer.  But they wake to find themselves in unfamiliar surroundings, where people keep calling them Timmy and Armie.Armie calls on Timmy to present him an award at the Texas Film Festival, eager to prolong their time together after the Call Me Be Your Name promo tour has finally come to an end.  He's not ready for things to change between him and Timmy, even when Timmy tells him he needs a bit of space so he can start to move on.  But instead of waking in Texas on the day of the award ceremony, they find themselves somehow in Italy, where everyone seems to believe they are *actually* Elio and Oliver.Each pair has to find a way to navigate this new world they find themselves in and figure out how, or even if, they can get back to their rightful life.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 294
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is lfg1986. So ok. If you were reading the summary and thought "Gee, this seems awfully familiar, I feel like there was already a fic like this started", you would be correct. This fic used to be called "The Life I Needed All Along" and we had published 3 chapters before hitting a pause. Unfortunately, the author who was working on that fic with me is no longer available to continue writing this story, and I did not feel like I could move forward by myself with the set up we had established. But I had fallen completely in love with the prompt that lovemyway had given a long time ago, and I felt so inspired to write the Armie/Timmy side of it, I couldn't bear to let the entire project die. So I asked around and managed to find a new collaborator who was up to the challenge of taking on the Elio/Oliver side of the story, the lovely and amazing ThatAJ! She is very excited to dip her toes into this world, and I am ecstatic about working with her on this. I hope you all can be on board with this change, because she's really going to bring something special to this story, and I can't wait!
> 
> So...the logistical side of things. In order to make this our own project and not take something from an existing story, we are starting FRESH. Hence the new name. However, I did not want to completely rewrite what I had for my side, since I had been plotting it out for months and was very happy with it. So, chapter one of this iteration will be a combination of new story from ThatAJ and old story from what I had posted previously. She is using the same basic template as the previous author, so there may be some similarities here and there, but I assure you that she is making the Elio/Oliver part of the story her own, and I couldn't be happier with what she's come up with so far. Chapter 2 will be all new material from her, and will be posted next Sunday. Then chapter 3 will be my chapter, which was posted previously, with possibly some very minor edits. Starting in chapter 4, there will be ALL NEW MATERIAL going forward. I ask for your patience and understanding as we try our best to get past this minor hiccup and make the best of this transition.
> 
> We have a posting schedule planned, where the next chapter will be posted next Sunday, and then going forward, we hope to post twice a week, Sunday and Wednesday, so that you all don't have to wait long between updates.
> 
> I really hope you guys will enjoy what we have come up with here, and I thank you very much for being so patient with all of this. <333

Oliver knows this is the last night he will spend with Elio as his lover. He gazes from his place by the balcony windows at the young man, limbs akimbo, fast asleep in the bed they have shared for the past couple of nights. Their time together in Bergamo has been wonderful, meaningful, and also solidified the creeping dreadful decision that has been plaguing Oliver since he and Elio first kissed. Since Oliver began to believe that Elio might feel for him even a fraction of what Oliver feels for Elio.

Because Oliver loves him. Loves everything Elio is and loves the potential for who Elio may become. He will miss Elio and, more than that, will miss being a witness to Elio’s life as no doubt the best is still to come for this kid, who in the course of six weeks became a young man. 

Oliver loves whom he becomes around Elio. Loves himself as he sees himself in Elio’s eyes. This is a love Oliver has not experienced before and Oliver does not believe he will ever experience again. 

And yet, he knows himself, he knows the train tomorrow will take him away from Elio, never to return. He is not a brave man, Oliver. He knows this. He has used up a lifetime of bravery this summer. Allowing himself to fall and to love and to be loved. As much as he may have known himself before, he knows himself better as a result. He has thought, “This is what love is. This is what falling in love is.” And he has realized he has never before loved or been loved, and will probably never again. 

He has a girlfriend. 

They are not together, he should add. But he has a girlfriend. Someone with whom he is off and on again. Someone of whom his parents approve. Someone whose presence makes his life easier, less open to scrutiny. They broke up, once again, before he left for Italy. But Oliver knows, once he returns to the United States, he will return to her. And they will probably marry and, if they marry, they will probably have children. And they will build a life together. A decent sort of life. The type of life Oliver has been told he should want. And he does. Or, rather, he wants to want it. It could be worse. He will be married to his best friend. She will be a good partner, a good mother, and a good wife. She is not lacking. It is Oliver who is missing something. A thing that keeps him from being normal, from fitting in. A thing he found this summer. 

He’s not more normal now for it. In fact this summer was confirmation of how far from normal he really is. But he finally felt as though he fit in someplace, with someone. There was someone out there as sick as him. And they only have one more night together. 

Oliver watches as rosy-fingered dawn creeps her way across Elio’s body, following the path that Oliver’s own fingers have traveled numerous times in the past ten days, traveled and claimed and will now cede back to Elio, to future lovers, as he is certain there will be many. 

They have less than one more night together and tomorrow is already today.

Oliver’s heart crumbles even as he tries to be strong. He steps towards the bed and lowers himself down, curling around Elio’s sleep-warm body, his feet hanging off the end, burying his face in the softness of his belly which, after the night’s activities, smells more of Oliver than Elio. Although this is the scent Oliver will remember Elio by - the scent of their coming together layered on top of the sweet smells of summer and stone fruit and the muskiness of a boy growing into a man. And Oliver is in love.

Oliver closes his eyes and tries to find the peace in sleep that Elio has. His mind races with the knowledge of what comes next, in which his heart is broken and Elio’s is...spared. Or so Oliver hopes. Oliver has done the algebra and he does not believe he is entirely selfish in his decision and that this, in the long-term, will be best for both himself and Elio. And he would sacrifice himself in an instant for Elio. 

He recites the reasons for his decision to himself, much the way those of another faith might pray the rosary. 

What was conceived and born in Heaven this summer would not survive the cruel realities outside this perfect bubble. Elio is blessed to have a family so accepting, so nurturing, of whomever he might become but the world is not his family. The world resembles Oliver’s family far greater and there are the risks of two men together. Now, especially now. With the headlines, the disease that was finally given a name, _another name_ , one that did not condemn an entire community in its naming. But is still, nonetheless, in New York City killing at epidemic proportions men like him. Even just in the last year there were some cases reported in Europe. Elio was with Marzia this summer and Oliver has hope that Elio will be able to love women as much as men, or even that this romance with Oliver is an outlier, and thus Elio will be spared. With no test, with no real understanding of what causes the illness - only that it is a fast and painful death, sparing the dignity of no one infected. If Elio lives because of Oliver’s sacrifice, that will be enough. If Elio lives a life free from prejudice, a life in which whom he loves does not have to be a political statement, all the better. 

Then there is the lesser reason. Elio is young. It would be unfair of Oliver, as much as he might want, to ask for a commitment from him. Elio deserves to be young and explore all the world has to offer, much as Oliver did. And, in the gradual light of the room, Oliver admits that if he were to ask this of Elio and Elio couldn’t offer it, or wouldn’t, or worse tried to and failed (not through his own failure of character but rather the failure of youth), Oliver is uncertain he would survive. To give his heart over is a risk. Being a betting man, he prefers the odds of surviving on his terms. He recalls all too well what it was like to be seventeen. Although, surely, Elio is far more mature than Oliver was. More worldly at least and that comes across as maturity. But in so many ways, Elio is very much seventeen and perhaps more naive than Oliver had been due to the warm and nurturing environment he was born into. And Oliver would never want anything less. He hopes that Elio retains these facets of youth and innocence far longer than Oliver had been able. He hopes that he is not the one to create the first crack in the bubble in which Elio has lived until this summer. 

“I know nothing, Oliver” Elio had said to him. And Oliver wants Elio to know everything, to give him the world, but the world as it was before the Fall, before we were forced from Eden. For Elio is an angel and Oliver is fearful that he is the serpent who has tempted Elio from his magical garden. How did Eve feel having eaten the apple? At once gifted and cursed with knowledge. Is it indeed better to speak than die? 

Serpent that Oliver is, there are words that he has not let spill off his forked tongue. He believes it would be better to die than to speak the words, “I love you” to Elio. Love is an action and a promise. He can’t give Elio the knowledge, the burden of his love, and walk away as he intends to. And, more than anything, he can’t hear those words from Elio. He wouldn’t survive it. 

And in the same heartbeat in which Oliver wants to protect Elio and himself by not speaking his love into the world, he hopes, he prays that Elio knows. Surely, if Elio knows anything, he knows Oliver loves him. 

Elio twitches in his sleep, in Oliver’s arms, dreaming. Oliver wonders what he dreams - does he dream of Oliver? Oliver is at once desperately jealous of anyone else who might occupy even the unconscious thoughts of this young man and also hopeful that Elio’s world remains larger than Oliver. 

Elio’s belly is damp now with Oliver’s tears. He weeps silently, pushing his face into Elio’s skin almost as though he hopes that through sheer force, the tears can be held back like by a damn. “Please,” he whispers, “please.” He is asking for so much.

Please protect Elio. He conjugates the verb - please protect him now, please protect him in the future, and, also, please protect him from the past, from what we did, from what _I_ did, this summer. Please do not let me be the cause of his ruin. Please do not let the sunshine disappear from the forest green of his eyes. Please do not take his crooked smile and his sleeve upon which his heart is sewn. 

Oliver lifts his face to wipe away his tears with the bedsheet - it already bears so many of their fluids, it graciously accepts more. He blinks as rosy-fingered dawn makes her way further into the room and, at once, gulps back a sob. He had grown so accustomed to living in Elio’s world where not only were the two of them fairly accepted but references to Homeric epithets in common conversation were not only not given a sideways glance but were, in fact, expected. 

Oliver had learned the hard way - the way he hopes he’s protecting Elio from - to hide his enthusiasm for learning, for reading, for quoting. He recalls discovering the bright orange and yellow book of Greek myths at his public library, with the picture of Apollo carrying the sun across the sky. (And, his mind helpfully fills in, to add to the pain of this memory, like pushing on a bruise to see if it still hurts, Apollo is a later version of Helios for whom Elio is named.) He recalls sitting at recess, day after day, with the large book propped up on the picnic table in the school playground until some of the other boys wandered over, dusty and sweaty from their games and began taunting Oliver. Taunting him for being pudgy, taunting him for reading during recess, taunting him for being smarter than he had to be to earn decent marks in school. Taunting him for being limp wristed. Taunting him for being a Jew. Until their taunts turned into actions and, as if they knew how best to hurt Oliver, they picked up that happy bright book and started pulling the pages out, tearing those beautiful illustrations to bits. The gods and goddesses were powerless against the bullies. 

And later, when Oliver had to work up the courage to ask his father for money to replace the library book, he had to face his father’s coldness. “Life is going to be easier for you if you learn how to blend in,” his father informed him. It was a lesson learned and passed down from generation to generation - have pride in your faith, in being different, in being Chosen, but also learn to get along with your neighbors, don’t give them cause to look at you twice, don’t give them cause to think about you, blend in and maybe you can be like them, in this land of the free. And Oliver’s parents had done just that, moved to a largely gentile neighborhood all in the name of giving their children the best opportunities. And here Oliver had the opportunity to learn a valuable lesson. Once his growth spurt hit, he could never truly blend in, but he learned to try to hold back, survey the landscape, play anthropologist before he engages. Are these the type of people with whom he would need to show a knowledge of American football and beer or could he let his interest in philology bleed through, would a massage to a shoulder be welcome or rebuffed? 

It wasn’t only Elio that made his summer with the Perlmans magical and Oliver is certain he will never feel as at home in his own self as he did. He wonders, as a type of thought experiment, what, if anything, would have to change for him to be with Elio. To truly be with him, build a life with him, and love him. Love him as an action and a promise. He places a kiss to the softest skin just above where Elio’s hair begins to grow, where his cock, soft now, is nestled in a bed of dark curls, and closes his eyes, hoping sleep takes him before he must face the most painful day of his life.

***

The text comes through just as Armie finishes replying to Luca’s email saying he was sorry he couldn’t make it to Austin, but congratulating him on the well-earned award.

_< Whaddup, Austin! Let’s do this thing!>_

It’s accompanied by a pic of Timmy’s signature peace sign thrown up in front of a sign reading “Everything is bigger in Texas” in what looks like the airport’s arrival area. A small smile creeps onto his face as he stares at the text, a swirl of warmth blooming in his chest knowing that Timmy has landed in Texas to present an award to him. He quickly taps out a reply.

_< Hey man, you made it! Are you at the airport? I can come grab you.>_

He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, signaling that Elizabeth is finished showering. It’s only another few seconds before his phone chimes again with the response.

< _No need, I’m in the hotel bar. Get your ass down here and meet me._ >

A soft chuckle rumbles out of his mouth as he grins down at his phone. The sound of the bathroom door opening causes him to look up as his wife emerges from the small room, a billow of steam rolling out behind her.

“Hey babe, Timmy is already here, he’s downstairs in the bar. He wants us to go meet him.”

He watches as Elizabeth wanders over to the closet to choose an outfit to change into. “It’s gonna take me another hour to get ready, why don’t you just go and I’ll see you at dinner at 8.”

A part of him he doesn’t care to examine in detail is the slightest bit relieved, his chances to spend time alone with Timmy quickly running out as their seemingly never-ending press tour has at last reached its final stop. In fact, it was already supposed to have ended with the Oscars. But then two days later he got the call about being honored at the Texas Film Festival, and he couldn’t pass up the chance for one last hurrah with Timmy. So he made the call to ask him to present the award to him as he had done for Timmy so many times over the last few months.

Not waiting for her to change her mind, he slides off the bed and heads toward the door. “Sounds great, see you later!” The only reply he gets is a non-committal hum and a hand waved in his general direction, her attentions already somewhere deep in her makeup bag.

The hotel bar is a low-lit alcove off to the side of the main restaurant, and pretty packed for a Thursday night in early March. He spots Timmy sitting at a small table in the corner, already half into his rum and coke and scrolling through his phone. After grabbing himself a beer, he makes his way over to greet him.

A jolt of electricity shoots through him when Timmy’s eyes raise from his phone to meet his own, light sparking in them immediately upon seeing him. It’s only been a few days since they last saw each other, but somehow it feels like an eternity since the night of the Oscars when he’d let Timmy cry in his arms for twenty minutes before getting him high and stuffing their faces with pizza.

In his haste to get up to hug Armie, Timmy almost knocks over his drink as the small table wobbles violently. There’s a soft tug on his heart as he watches Timmy scramble to stabilize the cup before the contents spill everywhere, a warm fondness that he isn’t used to feeling with his other friends when they do stupid or clumsy shit. Before he can spend any more time on it, Timmy’s body collides with his in a kind of smash-hug he’s come to expect after months traveling the world together.

“Arrmiiiieee! It’s s’good to see you, man!”

It’s obvious by the slight slur in his voice and the way he holds on just a little too tight that Timmy’s already a smidge past tipsy, which normally he wouldn’t think twice about but something about the way Timmy’s breath hitches when Armie pulls away from the hug gives him pause.

“You, too, T.” He watches Timmy sway gently for a second before finding his balance. “Hey man, everything good? Rough flight?”

Timmy’s eyebrows knit together for a second like he’s trying to figure out the meaning of Armie’s words, but after a few seconds his face relaxes again and he huffs out a breath.

“Nah, it was all right. Just haven’t had much sleep. Come on, let’s sit.”

Armie hesitates for a brief second before following Timmy’s lead back to the table. He figures if there’s something actually wrong, Timmy will eventually tell him, especially if he gets drunk enough. The boy barely has a filter to begin with, but get a few drinks in him, it disappears completely.

They settle into their usually easy rhythm, Armie content to mostly listen while Timmy explains in excited detail all about his upcoming movie shoot and the various skills he gets to train for. It isn’t until his phone vibrates on the table with a text from Elizabeth that he realizes how late it’s gotten. He winces as the words _< Where are you?>_ light up his screen.

“Shit, I’m late to meet Elizabeth for dinner. You should join us.” 

The words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to think better of it. A look of surprise followed by one of clear worry crosses Timmy’s face, and something inside of him twists uncomfortably.

“Won’t she mind? I don’t want to intrude on your alone time.”

The fact that he finds this thought so ridiculous should probably give him pause, but after months living in each other’s pockets, where Timmy has _literally_ climbed into bed with them, having Timmy join him and Liz for dinner seems completely natural, even _right_.

“Oh come on, when has that ever stopped you before? It’ll be fine.”

He can see the mental process of Timmy weighing his options, and is pleased when he can tell that his offer has won out. With a short nod, Timmy agrees, and Armie sends a quick text to Elizabeth while Timmy settles his tab at the bar.

When they arrive at the table Liz already has waiting for them, he sends a silent apologetic look over to her before his eyes dart over to Timmy, who’s moving in to hug her as they greet each other. Liz returns a sharp look to him over Timmy’s shoulder, but once they break apart, her smile is fixed squarely on her face and that’s the extent of any weirdness between them.

Dinner is mostly uneventful, and Armie notes that Timmy orders water and a small pasta dish but is unusually quiet compared to even just a little while ago when he was talking a mile a minute. Elizabeth doesn’t seem to notice as she goes on about something cute the kids did the other day. 

As he finishes paying the bill, Timmy thanks them both and starts to excuse himself to go back to his room for the night. Something tightens in his chest, not ready for the evening to end just yet.

“Hey wait, it’s early still. You wanna get another round of drinks at the bar?”

There’s a few seconds where it looks like Timmy is considering his offer before his shoulders drop and he chews on his bottom lip. “Nah, I shouldn’t. Thanks, though.”

“Ok, well at least let me make sure you get back to your room ok.”

Timmy snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I’m a big boy, Armie, I can make it up to my room without supervision.”

He rolls his eyes so hard, it actually hurts. “Yes I know, asshole. Just for my own peace of mind, please.” Despite Timmy seeming to have sobered up a bit during dinner, he still feels like something is off with him, and he just needs to be sure he is safe before he leaves him for the night.

There’s a beat of silence as Timmy’s glance shifts from him over to Elizabeth and then back before he finally shrugs and seems to accept. When he looks back at Elizabeth, she has an unreadable expression on her face, but she says nothing. 

“I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

When no response comes, he takes that as his cue to just go. He’s sure there will be some sort of conversation about it later, but right now he’s more worried about Timmy.

Neither of them say anything on the elevator ride up to Timmy’s floor, which is just one below theirs. When Timmy swipes his key in the door of his room, he turns to Armie with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ok well, I think I got it from here, thanks, man.”

Just before Timmy can make it across the threshold, Armie closes a hand around his bicep and pulls him back.

“Hey wait, what’s going on with you?”

“What?”

Armie lets go of Timmy’s arm and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “You’ve been acting off all night. First with being drunk earlier and then you were basically silent at dinner. It’s not like you. Seriously, is everything ok?”

A pit of dread forms in his chest when he sees Timmy’s shoulders slump, a look of resignation on his face. He almost regrets asking, not sure he’s ready to hear whatever Timmy is about to say.

“I’m fine. It’s just…” As Timmy pauses to let out a breath, Armie holds his own in anticipation. “I just thought that the Oscars was the end of the road for us, ya know? And I was prepared for that. I’d made my peace with that chapter being closed and trying to move onto what’s next, for both of us. But when you asked me to present this award to you, it ended up prolonging the process and I wasn’t expecting that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad you asked me to do this for you, it’s a huge honor and I want to be a part of it. I just think maybe we should set some clearer boundaries now that we aren’t going to be joined at the hip for promo anymore. I need to start readjusting my expectations of our friendship, before I don’t know how to anymore.”

_Boundaries_? This kid wouldn’t know what a boundary was if it smacked him in the face. It’s part of what made his relationship with Timmy so special. Nothing was off-limits between them, and it had given him a sort of strength and courage to be his true self with Timmy that he’d never experienced before with anyone else.

Of all the things Armie considered might be going on with Timmy, this hadn’t even crossed his mind. It catches him so off guard, he can’t think of any kind of coherent response. And apparently Timmy isn’t expecting one, because he starts turning back to the still-open door. There’s only a brief hesitation when Timmy throws a quick glance back over his shoulder. 

“Night, Armie.”

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him sounds a lot like goodbye.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly at the door to Timmy’s hotel room, talking himself into and then back out of knocking several times before he finally forces himself to turn around and go back to the elevator.

He gets back to his own room to find Elizabeth in the middle of removing her make-up, throwing out a distracted, “Uh huh,” as an answer when she asks if Timmy got back to his room ok.

They crawl into bed a little while later, and Armie is grateful that she hasn’t brought up his ambushing her with Timmy at dinner earlier. She’s asleep within minutes, but he can’t get his mind to settle. Timmy’s words keep replaying in his head on a loop, a weight in his chest getting heavier each time. 

It’s not like Elizabeth hasn’t told him the exact same thing several times over the last few weeks, and he knows it makes logical sense given the reality of their lives on two different coasts. But he’d stubbornly convinced himself that what they had built during filming and the subsequent year-long promo didn’t have to change just because they wouldn’t see each other all the time anymore. 

But after his conversation with Timmy, he feels like he’s lost the tether he’s come to depend on and is now floating aimlessly. He alternates between staring at the ceiling and the alarm clock on the small night stand on the side of the bed, trying in vain figure out why the thought of having a more traditional friendship with Timmy unnerves him so much. After hours of tossing and turning, exhaustion finally catches up to him and he falls into a fitful sleep.

***

Oliver awakens in a cold dark room. There is an awful noise coming from someplace, it sounds like music but unlike any music he has heard before. He gropes around in the bed - the sheets feeling cleaner and crisper than when he fell asleep - but he is alone. There is not even a warm patch next to him. 

“Elio,” he calls out, his voice sleep-hoarse and laced with confusion. 

He takes in the room around him. It is not the friendly room where he fell asleep. The furniture is different, less personal. The cold in the air is coming from the air conditioning unit, that was not there when he fell asleep with the warm summer breeze lapping his skin from the open window. The room is dark because thick blinds have been drawn, rather than the gauzy curtain that had so willingly invited sunrise to join Oliver and Elio in their bed. It is much larger as well.

He looks around for the source of the sound and sees a thin, rectangular box, lit up. The “music” as it were is playing from that as if it were a very small walkman without headphones. He sees the screen filled with a photo of Elio, although not as he has ever seen Elio before, with the name “Timmy” on top. 

The music continues to play:

_These expensive, these is red bottoms_

_These is bloody shoes_

Oliver picks up the object and presses his thumb against the green option which indicates this is a telephone call of some sort and that he wants to answer it. Elio’s face fills the screen. More than his face is difficult to make out as the room Elio is in appears to be just as dark as the room Oliver is in. 

“Ol-Oliver,” his voice wavers. “You - you have a beard.”

Indeed, Oliver puts a hand up to his face and realizes he does not just have the stubble that grows like weeds on his face overnight but has several days worth of beard, where yesterday he was clean-shaven. 

“Elio! How did you - where are - what?” Oliver can’t form the words because he has no idea what questions to ask or in what order. 

“Oliver? Where are you? Where am I?” Elio’s bottle green eyes fill with tears. 

“I don’t, I don’t know Elio,” Oliver replies truthfully. He feels that as the older one he should have the answers but he frankly doesn’t right now. He makes eye contact with Elio, brave Elio, who figured out how to contact him. “I’m in a - a hotel room of some sort.”

“Me too,” Elio responds. 

“Not our hotel room, not our hotel, I don’t believe,” Oliver shares, aware he is creating more questions rather than answering any and feels the failure of that deep in his stomach. “How did you figure out...how did you know how to contact me?”

“I found this...thing? And on the screen was something that looked like a phone. And there was your picture...but it says ‘Armie’ next to it. Oliver?” The tears that had filled Elio’s eyes spill over. 

“Yeah, yes, the screen on my...phone? The screen said ‘Timmy’ when you called,” Oliver shares. Elio whimpers in response, fully crying now and, if Oliver is totally honest with himself, it is only his desire to protect Elio that keeps him from crying as well. “Elio, I’m going to...to stick my head out of the hotel room door and see if anything…” He trails off because he truly does not know how to complete that sentence. 

“Me too,” Elio gulps back a sob and once more Oliver is overcome by the bravery of this young man. 

Oliver holds the phone in his hand as he gets out of bed, noticing that he is wearing nothing but skin-tight boxers, despite having fallen asleep naked. He makes his way to the door and it opens up to a non-descript corridor, just as impersonal and unfriendly as the room. He looks to one side and sees Elio at the door next to his, his curls longer and more wild than when he had fallen asleep and Oliver can’t say he minds the change in appearance, despite being further confused. Elio spots Oliver as well and looks instantly relieved. At least they have each other, Oliver thinks. 

Elio, dressed in baggy sweatpants and a large t-shirt, neither of which Oliver has ever seen, rushes from his door, letting the door swing closed and lock behind him, and into Oliver’s arms. Oliver practically mandhandles Elio into his room in his relief. They stand there for sometime, finding comfort in each other’s arms. They are so wrapped up in each other, both physically and emotionally, that neither hears the electronic noise of the door unlocking and then opening. They startle apart at the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Armie? Timmy? What - what are you doing?” 

Oliver looks up and sees a beautiful slender brunette, ponytail high on her head, and her eyebrows drawn together in confusion, her mouth open slightly.

***

The sound of someone singing along to an Italian song, loudly and off-key, brings Armie out of his unconscious haze. Brows creasing in confusion, he blinks an eye open and is more than a little surprised to find himself in the passenger seat of a moving car and what looks to be the Italian countryside passing by outside the window. His head whips around, and he recognizes the man behind the wheel as Antonio Rimoldi, who had played Anchise in Call Me By Your Name. Now completely baffled, he shifts up in his seat and clears his throat.

The awful singing stops, thankfully, as the man next to him turns his head with a smile. “Non ti preoccupare, signor Oliver, ci siamo quasi.” 

As his attentions turn back to the road, Armie just stares at him, uncomprehending. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s able to translate the words to understand what he said, but they still don’t make any real sense to him. Why did he call him “Oliver”? He looks out the window, trying to spot Luca or any other crew member off in the distance, but there’s nothing but grass and sky and the road in front of them.

Instinct takes over as he reaches in his pocket for his phone, but there’s nothing there but a small wallet. That’s when he notices what he’s wearing: Billowy. Panic starts to rise in his throat, his mind trying to decide if this is some sort of weird dream or if he’s actually lost it.

A minute later, the car pulls up in front of the villa where he spent three of the best months of his life. A weight settles on his chest as he peers up at the impressive building, memories flooding every one of his senses instantly.

He’s snapped back to the present when Michael approaches the car, a wide smile on his face. Small swirls of relief circle in his gut, glad to see someone he is more familiar with and knows speaks English. Once he’s unfolded himself from the tiny car, he lets out a long breath. “Michael, man, it’s good to see you.”

His relief is short-lived when the man raises an eyebrow quizzically, but otherwise maintains his jovial expression. “Actually, it’s Samuel, or Professor Perlman if you prefer. But there’s no need for formalities here.”

Before he can answer, Amira is there, hugging him, introducing herself as Annella. He’s just about convinced himself that he’s in the middle of some kind of crazy lucid dream when he looks up to see the window of what would be Elio’s room and sees Timmy, clear panic in his eyes as he looks down at the scene below.

When they lock eyes, he knows. It’s not a dream, but he still doesn’t know what it _is_. He’s only faintly aware of the bustle around him as he’s shuffled inside, Michael, err _Samuel_ having grabbed his bag from the back of the car while he was busy silently freaking out. 

There’s a voice speaking to him as he sits on the sofa in the study, but all of his energy is focused on listening for the fall of familiar footsteps on the stairs. When they come a few seconds later, he draws in a deep breath.

To his credit, in the brief time between when their eyes met outside and when he appears in the doorway to the study, Timmy has managed to school his face into a mostly casual expression. But as introductions are being made and he goes to shake Armie’s hand, which feels ten kinds of wrong for them, he can feel the tremble that belies Timmy’s cool demeanor.

At Timmy’s suggestion to take the bags up to his room, he breathes a low sigh at the chance to have some time alone with Timmy to figure out what is happening. He’s so focused on getting to the room as fast as he can that he’s taken off guard when Esther, or more likely Marzia, traipses down the stairs and kisses him on the cheek in greeting.

He barely waits for Timmy to shut the door behind him before he breaks. “Please, for the love of god tell me you are actually _Timmy_ , and not Elio.” As Timmy gives a shaky nod, an explosion of air rushes from his lungs in relief. “Oh thank fuck. Jesus, what the fuck is going on here? Where is Luca and why is everyone acting like we are Elio and Oliver?”

The fact that Timmy is completely still except for the slight shake he can still see in his hands sends a spike of fear up his spine. It takes another several seconds for Timmy to speak, and when he finally does, the answer is the opposite of reassuring.

“Luca isn’t here, or anyone else from the crew. I already checked.” A beat, Timmy taking several short shallow breaths to keep from hyperventilating. “I don’t think they are acting.”

“ _What_?”

“I think we are actually _in_ Call Me By Your Name. I think…I think we’re living Elio and Oliver’s lives, for real.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They made a movie… of us?” Elio’s voice cracks and Oliver feels a shard strike him in his heart, which is already Elio’s to do with as he pleases, including shredding it with his own discomfort and anxiety, everything Oliver has hoped to protect him from.

_“Armie? Timmy? What - what are you doing?”_

_Oliver looks up and sees a beautiful slender brunette, ponytail high on her head, and her eyebrows drawn together in confusion, her mouth open slightly._

“Are you two just waking up? You’re going to be late!” She admonishes but with a playful tone underpinning her words. Apparently, the sight of two men hugging each other closely has not given her pause although Elio and Oliver jump apart once they realize they are no longer alone. 

Elio, brave Elio, asks, “Late?” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes and gestures to what are press packets on the table. “Late for the screening and press event. Oh, Timmy babe.” 

She leans over and gives Oliver a kiss on the mouth, not exactly chaste but not inappropriate either. Oliver feels his body stiffen in response to the kiss, it feels wrong, like he is being unfaithful to Elio. Despite having reached the decision that his relationship with Elio will not continue beyond the summer, his heart still belongs to him and Elio will carry it, whether a piece or the whole thing, wherever he goes. Anyone else will only get the tattered remnants of whatever Elio leaves behind. Oliver realizes that this woman must be Armie’s wife and tries to relax into the kiss, to play along with whatever roles he and Elio have been suddenly cast into. He’s acted before, with women, always with women, and this should feel familiar. What he did not predict was that Elio has imprinted on him and like fingerprints smudging a glass, he can no longer see the world without it being filtered through their love. 

She cups Oliver’s cheek in a warm gesture that conveys a deep familiarity and turns and walks back to the door. She playfully wags a finger at them both, “Okay you two, get ready quickly, they’re expecting you at the screening.” 

Elio lets out a sound like air escaping a balloon, “My key! I left my key in my room.”

She sighs, “Timmy, so anxious today! You forgot that we left the doors between our rooms unlocked?” 

Oliver turns and twists and the handle to the interior door and, indeed, it opens. He clears his throat. “Must’ve forgotten that in all the excitement. Go...uh, and we’ll get ready. Where are we meeting again?” He shakes his head at her like he can’t believe how absentminded he is. It works with his girlfriend whenever she has caught him lost in thought while they’re supposed to be spending time together. When his eyes and mind have followed a beautiful man walking by their table outside a cafe or smiling at Oliver when he holds the door open or a million other instances of Oliver’s true nature rearing its ugly head. Like one of those carnival games of wack-a-mole, he can push it down but it always pops up in some place and at some time when he least expects it. He moves through the world with his armor constantly on, ready to do battle with himself. 

His girlfriend calls him her absent-minded professor. This brunette smiles and shakes her head at him, obviously used to something similar from her own husband. She waves to them over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Elio’s expression reflects what Oliver is feeling - he is wide-eyed, chewing on the corner of his mouth, and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. In short, complete and utter panic. 

Simultaneously, they rush to the table where the press packets are and begin to flip through them. Oliver’s stomach immediately sours and turns over, he feels a cold sweat on his brow, someone has made a film about them? He imagines his parents, his mentors, his girlfriend, everyone who has ever touched his life and to whose judgment he has given the power to measure the weight of him, all the way back to his classmates who destroyed the gods and whatever belief Oliver had in the innate kindness of others. 

“They made a movie… of us?” Elio’s voice cracks and Oliver feels a shard strike him in his heart, which is already Elio’s to do with as he pleases, including shredding it with his own discomfort and anxiety, everything Oliver has hoped to protect him from. And from the title, _Call Me By Your Name,_ it appears their most intimate moments have been portrayed by this Armie and this Timmy for the entire world to see. As Oliver glances more closely at the press packets, he notes that the year is 2017 - thirty-four years after he fell asleep last night, longer than an entire lifetime. 

It is not out of nowhere but rather it feels like the natural progression that his vision starts tunneling, the cold sweat spreads to the rest of his body, there is a roaring like ocean waves in his ears, and his limbs go numb. He stumbles backward and sits down on the bed, very nearly missing it, dropping his head between his knees and tries to regain control of his breathing which has runaway in pants like a dog off his leash. 

His thoughts spiral into fragments that don’t make sense and he is unaware of the mattress dipping beside him as the body and soul he knows as well as his own, if not better because unlike Oliver, Elio shines a light in the darkest corners of himself in deep pursuit of the truth while Oliver hides from everyone, although Elio least of all. He feels the warmth of Elio’s hand between his shoulder blades, strong for the gentleness with which he begins rubbing soothing circles. Elio leans in, his longer curls tickling the edges of Oliver’s ear. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers. 

They sit there a moment while Oliver tries to collect his thoughts, like dandelion fluff blown into the wind, tries to collect himself, while he tries not to let the guilt that he’s the one needing comforting take over. That’s not productive. He stares at the hotel door as though it will contain answers before blowing a breath out through pursed lips. 

Together they agree to study the press packets while getting ready so they can be as prepared as possible. Together they avoid discussing the how and the why of this situation. 

Oliver walks into Elio’s room as soon as he is ready. He has read through the press packet with the speed-reading he learned by necessity while working towards his doctorate. He watches Elio try to style his hair, unused to this length, and admires him, seeing him for the first time in clothes that are not shorts and t-shirts, or less. It is something to see one’s lover dressed in clothes that compliment him and find yourself as aroused as if he were naked. 

They go down to the lobby where they are escorted to a theater and nudged up to the balcony for the film screening. 

As the film opens, and Oliver sees the actor playing Elio on screen and then his own arrival; he feels like he is watching his own memories dance across the screen. The movie is from Elio’s perspective and Oliver feels a sick thrill at realizing quite how impacted Elio was by him. As much as Oliver himself felt an instant attraction, a beautiful present, wrapped up in a sinking sense of dread, upon meeting Elio and then later upon getting to know him that nourished the attraction and the dread in equal parts. 

Oliver knows Elio now. He now understands what he meant when he slipped from his grasp at the volleyball game. He now understands why it felt, at times, that he was sticking his hands under a cold tap alternating with a hot water tap but never experiencing the warmth of the two coming together. He knows because he knows Elio as he knows himself. The film takes him back and if he did not already, he would now understand.

At various scenes - with Oliver’s red swimming suit, with the peach - Oliver notices Elio slump in his seat, his head dropped back as he stares at the ceiling in embarrassment. Oliver, places a hand on his thigh, the warmth of Elio’s skin through his trousers like the warm sun filtered in the images on the screen and it brings comfort to them both. As Oliver watches them board the bus to Bergamo, he wonders about the end of the film. 

Elio and Oliver have only lived until their final night together. 

Can a film tell them their future? 

Oliver wants to run from the theater. There is a reason that the gift of prescience is given to a select few, the gods and oracles, and often mortals are driven mad with knowledge. After all, it was knowledge itself that caused the Fall. 

If it is better to speak than to die, then it is far better to not know than to know. Ignorance is indeed bliss.

Watching Elio struggle with his departure, even with the kind and brilliant entreaty from Pro, Oliver is suddenly very aware of each and every heartbeat. As though, if he does not pay attention, it will suddenly cease beating. Each beat is a type of pain Oliver has never endured before. He wants it to stop. His heart. He wants his heart to stop beating so as to not have to live with the knowledge that he has hurt Elio. 

But, he holds out hope. Maybe the pain is worth it. Maybe Pro’s words speak to a greater truth. Maybe the path through the pain sets the course of Elio’s journey that begins with them falling in love and leads him to seek out healthy relationships. Had that not been Oliver’s wish just last night, thirty-four years ago?

And fall in love they did. If anything, the film makes clear that what they had was not a summer fling but a love that burned hot and bright and warmed them to their very core. There is no denying it, minimizing it, or playing at it being something else. At once Oliver is sure he will never know a love like this again and hopes with quiet desperation that this love is the base of the mountain for Elio and that he will experience the vistas of far greater heights than what he did one summer in the early eighties. 

He feels Elio’s hand close over his on his thigh and squeeze.

The scene changes and he sees, for the first time, the villa in winter. He smiles to himself remembering the scene and his own memory of the piazza when Elio told him that they spend winter waiting for summer. 

He hears his voice on the phone. He feels Elio’s hand start to tremble. He hears himself asking Elio if he minds. Elio’s hand disappears from on top of his and he shifts in his seat causing Oliver’s hand to slip off his thigh. Oliver knows enough to not chase after his touch.

He glances over and, despite knowing Elio better than he knows himself, he sees an emotion take up residence that he has never seen before. Anger. Elio glances at him and catches his eye and quickly drops it the way he would something rotten, and Oliver does not blame him, he is, he knows, rotten at his core. But in that glance there is a burning hatred alongside the anger. Oliver had hoped that whatever initial hurt might come from his decision, whatever resentment, it would be temporary and they would, through the years, always retain a loving relationship, one that would sustain even if they never saw each other again. It’s only time. 

He was wrong. The hatred he sees painted in harsh brush strokes across Elio’s face is not one that will soften or heal with time. He will forever break what they have. 

The movie ends with the long shot of Elio’s face as he cries and Oliver wishes Elio were crying next to him. Crying is an opening, a blood-letting of types. Instead cold radiates from Elio. Oliver has been shut out, not that he doesn’t deserve it, he deserves it in spades. He always knew he would be punished and Elio hurting is the worst punishment the universe could conceive for him.

They are ushered to a press event to answer questions about the movie, the making of the movie, and their relationship with each other and the director. 

Oliver barely has time to process that this film exists and is receiving a welcoming reception. A film portraying two men in love, with an honesty that shines a light on the beauty of a love between two people, any two people. A film about queer men in which neither of them is a stereotype and neither of them dies, by his own or another’s hand, exists and is seemingly opening to high critical acclaim. 

He answers the questions as though he is familiar with a world where this film exists. 

He discusses the fears that would have prevented him from taking this role as readily as he recalls the fear he felt upon first meeting Elio that only grew as he came to know him better. He discusses too the fears that his child may one day know his past and be ridiculed for it. For despite his plans to have a normal life, he cannot erase his past and what if the truth outs? Would he want to erase his past if it meant keeping this house of cards he had hoped to build safe? Does he not want a lifeline that he could one day pull on and find his way back to Elio and himself?

If that lifeline has not already been severed. Elio sits next to him and is perfect. Elio is perfect and Oliver knows he is acting because he doesn’t even flinch with Gallic pride when a reporter refers to him as _Timothy._

In response to one question, Oliver gives a message of hope, to himself more than anyone who may be watching. A message sent in a bottle and washed up on the shore at Oliver’s own feet, several decades too late. _“Maybe love is love. Maybe I never saw it from that perspective. But just watching two human beings develop such an intense and beautiful bond with each other, it’s nice.”_

At the end of the day, Oliver and Elio, both wrung out and exhausted are permitted to return to their rooms. Elio has not spoken directly to Oliver outside of press events where they were playing at being Armie and Timothee. They ride up to their floor together. Oliver can feel an energy vibrating off of Elio, and keeps his eyes on the ground and his mouth closed. Oliver can do this, can return to giving Elio space, if that’s what Elio wants, needs, deserves. He just wonders what his decision has cost him. Will cost him. 

They walk side-by-side, but not together, down the corridor until they reach Oliver’s room. Oliver stands in front of the door, knowing that on the other side is a wife, not his but a wife nonetheless. He is living in a facsimile of the life he was intending to create. He pauses and turns toward Elio, who brushes past Oliver and goes to the room next to where they’re standing and lets the door slam closed behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! :D
> 
> So, this chapter is basically a repost of what had been in the previous iteration of this fic. I tweaked a couple sentences for structure but all the plot elements are the same. So if you were reading that story before, you've probably already read this chapter. But, it never hurts to read things a second time. ;) And you can get it in the context of this new fic, as well. Anyway, this is the last chapter that will have old stuff, everything going forward will be brand new! And I'm so excited to show you what we have in store! 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has left us kudos or comments or just general love and encouragement elsewhere. You have no idea how much it means to us, and how motivating it is. You guys are amazing. <333

It takes a full ten seconds for Armie’s brain to process what Timmy said, but he doesn’t have any longer than that, because suddenly Timmy lurches forward, bending himself almost in half as he gulps for breath. Armie instantly recognizes it as the first sign of a panic attack and is by his side within two seconds, gently guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Ok, that’s it, you’re ok, just breathe.” Memories of last summer flash through his mind, when he was witness to these kind of attacks on more than one occasion as Timmy put his body through hell to film Beautiful Boy. The first time it happened, he had been terrified and only seemed to make things worse as Timmy spiraled, but after doing a bit of research and consulting with Timmy’s on-set doctor, he learned best way to handle things when he saw Timmy on the verge of an attack.

Keeping his voice low and calm, he rubs soothing circles into Timmy’s back as Timmy attempts to suck in air. “Ok Tim, focus on my voice. I want you to tell me five things you can see.”

A small whimper wafts up from between Timmy’s legs, where his head is hanging. At first, Armie isn’t sure Timmy is going to reply, but a few seconds later, he hears a weak voice. “The floor.”

“Ok good, what else?”

A deep breath. “Books. Sheet music. Tape player. _Oh fuck_ , we really are in 1983, aren’t we?” A broken sob wrenches free from Timmy throat and Armie tries his best not to succumb to his own sense of panic rising up within him, the signs that Timmy is indeed right, that they _are_ somehow stuck in the actual world from the movie adding up quickly.

But he can’t think about that yet, not until he can calm Timmy down and they discuss this rationally, if that’s even possible given the circumstances. “No, don’t think about that right now. Come on, you still have one more thing that you can see.”

He gently massages the muscle under Timmy’s right shoulder for a second, hoping it will help ground him. It seems to work, because he can feel Timmy draw in a deep breath a second before he answers, “Backpack.”

Armie’s eyes slide across the room to find the backpack he remembers so well from filming hanging on the back of the chair by the desk. He ignores the weird sting of nostalgia he feels upon seeing it again. “Great. Now, find four things you can touch.”

Timmy slowly leans down to touch a stray sock on the floor next to his foot, then he grips the edge of the bed by his thighs. Turning to reach behind him, he runs his fingers over the Grateful Dead t-shirt that’s laying on top of the pile of clothes haphazardly thrown on the bed. Armie’s breath catches when he recognizes it.

And when Timmy turns back to him slowly, placing a delicate hand on his chest and pressing just a little, everything stills. There’s a long beat where Timmy says nothing, just looks up at him with soft eyes, and for maybe the first time, he can’t identify the emotion hidden behind them.

But then the moment passes, and Timmy’s eyes drift away from his and down into his lap. “I think I’m ok now, you don’t have to keep going with the countdown.”

Timmy’s quiet voice breaks him out of his daze, and he clears his throat, trying to shake off the strange feeling that washed over him when Timmy looked at him like that. “You sure?” Timmy does seem noticeably calmer now, but he doesn’t want to just assume.

Timmy nods, head still angled down toward his lap. “Yeah, I’m good.” He goes quiet for another minute before he finally lifts his head again to look over at him. “Sorry about freaking out like that. Just…waking up here to _this_ and with everything all crazy and then _you_ – ”

“Hey, I’m right there with you. Trust me, another 10 seconds and I would have been hunched over right next to you. You just beat me to it, that’s all.” Armie nudges Timmy’s shoulder with his own, hoping to ease the tension a bit. It seems to work, because the corner of Timmy’s lips turn up in a small smile and he lets out a tiny huff of laughter.

“Right. Well anyway, thanks. You know, for…talking me down.”

Armie sobers, his smile softening around the edges. “Of course, man. Always happy to help.”

The room falls silent, neither of them sure what to say or do next. When Timmy shifts his weight on the bed and ends up leaning into Armie’s side, Armie finds it strangely comforting, a touchstone to hold onto while the rest of their surroundings are spinning in all directions.

He isn’t sure how long they sit there in silence, all sense of time and reality having been pretty well obliterated by the mere idea that they might have somehow been transported 35 years into the past and plopped into a fictional story. Armie’s so caught up in his own thoughts, that when Timmy finally does speak some time later, it startles him.

“So uh…what do we do now?”

If only he had a good answer for that, some kind of magical plan that would fix everything and put them back where they belong, and then they could laugh this off as some sort of crazy joint hallucination that becomes a hilarious story they tell at parties for years to come. Unfortunately, nothing of the sort comes to mind as he desperately thinks of a way out of this, and there’s nothing funny about it.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Breathing a heavy sigh, he scrubs a hand over his face in frustration. He feels the weight of Timmy’s need for him to be the one to lead them here, and it kills him that he doesn’t have any idea how to go about doing that. “I guess…I dunno, maybe we should just go with it? Pretend to be Oliver and Elio for now so that no one figures out that were _aren’t_.” He’s not sure how this whole thing works, but he’s pretty positive he doesn’t want to find out what the consequences might be if people discovered who they really are and where they came from.

That answer clearly wasn’t what Timmy was expecting to hear, because he snaps his head up and looks at him with slightly wild eyes. “ _For how long_?” He doesn’t voice the other question he’s clearly dying to ask, but Armie hears it loud and clear anyway. 

But he’s not ready to even consider the possibility of that yet, so he ignores the knot in his stomach and tries to take things one step at a time. “I don’t…as long as it takes, I guess. Look, we could wake up tomorrow and everything could be back to normal. I don’t have any more answers than you do. We just need to stay calm and do our best to get through this, ok?”

Armie sees all the energy drain out of Timmy at once, body sagging heavily against him, and Armie has to wrap an arm around his back and shoulder just to keep him upright. “Fuck, this is such a mess.” Timmy buries his face into Armie’s chest, and all Armie can do is hold onto him as he works through his emotions.

“Yeah, I know.” He pauses, not sure how best to broach the topic of their conversation last night but knowing he needs to. “Listen, Timmy…what you said, last night. I know you wanted to set some boundaries and everything. I just…I’m not really sure it’s gonna be possible right now, given our current circumstances. So, if you can just trust me, I promise to get us through this in one piece. I just really need to know you’re with me on this, man.”

Timmy doesn’t say anything for so long that he begins to wonder if he’d even spoken the words out loud or just thought them in his head, but then he feels Timmy nodding softly into his chest. Relief and hope take root in his stomach, and he just prays he’s able to keep his promise to Timmy without fucking things up even worse.

Another few minutes go by as they sit quietly together before Timmy finally pulls himself to sit up straight, twisting his body to look behind him. “I guess I should probably…” He juts his chin toward the pile of clothes.

“Oh yeah, right.” Armie scoots out of the way so Timmy can reach the articles of clothing without obstruction. 

Once he’s got everything gathered into his arms, Timmy stands and makes his way to the makeshift door that connects the two rooms. Before he crosses into the smaller of the two, he stops and turns back to look at Armie, expression tired and resigned. “Well, later.”

The irony of those words coming out of Timmy’s mouth are not lost on him as he watches Timmy duck into the next room and carefully close the door, leaving him alone.

He spends the next two hours staring blankly at the ceiling, memories of his first summer in Crema playing in his mind like a highlight reel on an old projector. Every time it ends, he wills himself to try to get some sleep, but then he blinks and the images start up again, over and over again in an endless loop.

Luca giving some long, passionate explanation for how he wanted a scene to go, the two of them laying sprawled out in the grass between takes, Timmy giggling and kicking out in every direction as Armie tackled him to the ground in a sparring match.

He’s caught between being curious and maybe even a tiny bit excited to be back in the place where he felt so free and alive, and worried that being back here under these circumstances will somehow taint the perfect memory he has of that summer. 

He doesn’t allow himself to think too far ahead, not ready to face what it would mean if they end up having to live out the whole story as if it were real. So he settles for falling back into the past and trying to recapture the feeling of safety he had back then, until he hears the dinner bell ring out.

Knowing what comes next, he counts the seconds until he hears the soft footfalls as Timmy enters their shared bathroom. The door pushes open and the footsteps stop right inside the doorway, hesitating to come any closer.

“It’s ok, I’m not asleep, you can come in.” Angling his head down, he searches out Timmy’s eyes in the darkness. 

A low sigh echoes through the otherwise quiet room as Timmy moves closer to the bed. “I guess I should um…go down to dinner, then?” 

The way Timmy’s thin voice wavers with uncertainty and anxiety makes Armie’s heart clench. “I guess, yeah.” He watches Timmy’s face closely when he gives a slow nod of acceptance, can see him mentally preparing to slip back into Elio’s skin again. Armie remembers how rough it was for him to shed the character before. He can’t imagine what kind of toll it will take this time around. 

Armie angles himself up on his elbows so he can meet Timmy’s eyes more easily. “Unless…I mean, I could come down with you, if you want.” 

Even in the dark, he can see the way Timmy swallows nervously. “Nah, you probably shouldn’t. It’s fine. I’ll be ok.”

It’s the most unconvincing lie he’s ever heard, but he lets it go, not wanting to push and make things worse. “Ok. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

Timmy turns to go, and every instinct in his body yells at him to say something else, to give Timmy some kind of reassurance or hope that this will all work out. But he can’t even convince himself of that right now, so all he says is, “Night, Timmy,” just before the heavy door closes behind him.

As silence descends over the room once more, a chill runs up his spine despite the warm summer breeze wafting in through the open window. There had been a quiet sort of comfort in knowing that Timmy had been just next door earlier, but now he’s seized by a loneliness that penetrates every cell of his body.

His thoughts drift to Liz and Harper and Ford. Not having a way to even contact them makes him restless, a sharp pain piercing his heart when he thinks about the fact he doesn’t know how long it will be until he will see them again. Or if he ever will. He wonders if they even know he’s missing. Or even if they _are_ missing. Maybe none of this is even real and they are still in their own world, safe and sound. Or maybe there’s another version of them running around in their world while they are here in this one. His mind runs over a million different scenarios, none of which seem even remotely possible. But then again, “possible” is a relative term when he considers the situation he finds himself in now.

He wonders how Timmy is doing, if he’s been able to convince the people downstairs that he is really their son. He very well knows that Timmy can play any acting role with stunning nuance and authority, but living as someone else for extended periods of time is something completely different, something neither of them have ever attempted. And though it was his own idea to play along, he has serious doubts about his own abilities to pull it off. Especially if…

No, he can’t let his mind go there yet. Not until he knows more about what they’re facing. There’s still plenty of time to figure things out before then.

The screams of fear and doubt in his head eventually fade to a hushed whisper as exhaustion takes over, allowing him to fall into a deep sleep.

He wakes the next morning to the sound of cheerful voices drifting in through his window. Groaning, he moves to turn over and try to go back to sleep. But then he remembers where he is, and who is with him. He shoots up out of bed, almost stumbling on a stack of books as he makes his way through the bathroom and quietly knocks on the adjoining door. “Timmy, are you in there?”

There’s no answer, so he gently slides the door open to peer inside. But all he finds is an empty room. Panic starts to rise up in his throat, half a dozen horrifying scenarios of why Timmy would suddenly be missing dancing through his head. Then he remembers that _Elio_ would have gone downstairs for breakfast already, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief.

He dresses quickly, rummaging through his bag until he finds the outfit he knows Oliver wore on this day. As he makes his way down the stairs and out to the backyard, he takes several calming breaths, trying to convince himself that he can do this. He can _be_ Oliver.

The relief and joy he feels when he spots Timmy sitting at the end of the table is so overwhelming, he almost forgets himself and breaks into a wide smile. Thankfully, Samuel doesn’t notice and greets him just as he did when they filmed the scene for the movie.

Taking his seat at the table, he tries to subtly get Timmy’s attention, but Timmy very intentionally won’t meet his eyes. After a minute, he settles into the scene and things progress pretty smoothly from there.

There’s a moment when Samuel moves the paper he was reading to be within Armie’s eyesight enough for him to make out the date printed at the top. A layer of goosebumps break out on his arms when he sees that the year is indeed 1983. When he raises his eyes to look at Timmy this time, they are already looking back at him, and he knows he knows it, too.

He forces himself to continue eating, doing his best to act calm and collected while desperately trying not to think about the fact that he wasn’t even _alive_ in 1983. 

Despite the slightly panic-inducing confirmation of being stuck in an era neither of them are familiar with in a country where they don’t speak the primary language, he finds he’s able to settle into a good rhythm with Samuel and Annella as they finish breakfast and get to know each other a bit. He shares Oliver’s easygoing personality, and once he decides to truly commit to the role, he finds himself laughing and genuinely enjoying himself. He keeps a close eye on Timmy, and he’s relieved to see him start to relax a bit and jump into the conversation more as the meal winds down.

By the time Timmy is leading them over to grab the bikes so they can head into town, Armie’s spirits are significantly lifted. “You remember how to ride, city-boy?” Armie hip-checks Timmy and chuckles when Timmy glares at him in response.

“Shut up, asshole.” There’s no heat in his tone, and when Timmy flashes a mischievous grin at him, Armie feels like maybe they are finally starting to get back to normal after all the weirdness of the last couple of days. “Wanna race?”

An incredulous snort escapes before he can stop it. “You’re kidding, right? You couldn’t beat me even when you were in shape.”

In a very Elio-like fashion, Timmy just sways on his feet and gazes up at him with a faux-innocent look. “Oh come on, old man, you afraid of a little friendly competition?”

He has no idea where this attitude is coming from all of the sudden, but he’s grateful for the chance to forget all the other craziness surrounding them and just be _them_ again. “Ok fine, you’re on!”

Timmy’s satisfied grin unknots something in him that’s been tied up for far longer than he cares to admit, and the feeling is so intoxicating that he almost misses Timmy jumping on his bike and starting to pedal away down the dirt path. Hopping onto his own bike, he starts after him.

He ends up letting Timmy beat him, and though Timmy surely knows that’s what happened, it doesn’t stop him from letting out a celebratory whoop when they reach the center of town.

Their joy is short-lived when they stop to look around, realizing just how different the Crema of 1983 is from the one they spent a summer falling in love with. Some things are still the same, the war memorial still proudly standing in the center. But there’s no gelateria, no Via Vai, no apartment above the piazza where their beloved director held countless movie nights for the whole crew. The music store where the teenagers used to hang out on the weekends is now a tobacco shop, and there’s only one main restaurant instead of the handful they used to have to choose from.

As they take in their surroundings, both more subdued now, Timmy spots the bank first. It’s not in the same place as it was when they had been there before, but at least it’s still there and it’s open. Armie has a moment of panic when he realizes just how rusty his Italian has gotten in the months since he’s last had to use it, but he somehow manages to cobble together a poorly-worded sentence that the bank teller mostly understands.

Looking down at the questions on the application for opening a bank account, the absurdity of their situation really hits home. He snorts in disbelief, prompting Timmy to look up from where he’s picking at a loose thread on his shorts. “What?”

Another snort. “It’s just…I have _no fucking idea_ how to fill out this form. I mean, Oliver doesn’t even have a _last name_ , let alone a social security number or address. This is totally useless.” He pushes the papers into the middle of the table and lets out a loud groan.

Timmy is quiet for a minute before he gives a small shrug. “Let’s just hope we aren’t here long enough for you to actually need a bank account.”

“Yeah.” Exhaling a long breath, he snatches back the papers and starts to roll them up, but at the last second decides maybe he should hang on to them, just in case. He stuffs them in the small pocket of Timmy’s backpack and stands up to stretch. “We should get out of here.”

Timmy looks up at him with an unreadable look on his face for a second before nodding. “Yeah, ok.”

It dawns on him that Timmy’s expecting him to ride off in the opposite direction, but he has a better idea. As they get settled on their bikes again, Armie turns to Timmy with a wicked smirk. “Last one back to the villa has to eat the cum peach!”

The string of curses that echo behind him as he races in the direction of the villa is more satisfying than he could have ever imagined. He reaches the villa a full three minutes before Timmy, having plenty of time to put his bike away and return to casually lean against the outer door of the property as he waits. When Timmy finally arrives, pushing past him through the door while muttering something about “cheating motherfucker” under his breath, Armie lets out a bark of genuine laughter for the first time in what feels like years.

And as he dips his head beneath the surface of the cool water in the pool a little while later, Timmy lounging quietly a few yards away, he thinks maybe this won’t turn out to be so bad after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Were you...are you in a relationship? W-with someone else? A girl?” 
> 
> ....The truth, he owes him the truth.

Oliver walks into his room and quietly closes the door behind him and leans back against it.

“Long day?” He startles and opens his eyes to see Liz curled up on the couch in the living area of their room, looking at something on her cell phone.

“You could say that,” he sighs. He tentatively walks over to her and sits down beside her. She moves her long lean limbs around until she’s cuddled into his side, her head resting on his chest. He puts his arm around her, like easing into a bath that has accidentally been drawn too hot. This is Armie’s wife after all, and she doesn’t deserve to be hurt by an imposter. He glances down at her as she runs her finger along the screen of the phone, pictures flying in a continuous roll, occasionally tapping her finger on the screen. “What are you doing?”

She glances up at him and gives him a half smile, “Instagram, of course. I know, I know...before you say anything.” She places the phone on the couch beside her, face down.

This is an old argument, Oliver can tell from her tone. It’s the same tone he takes when his girlfriend accuses him of getting so lost in his books that he’s forgotten her. It is a familiar push and pull but Oliver finds himself on the other side. And curious. He does what his girlfriend never does, after she complains about losing him to his work and he hastily apologizes and makes a dinner reservation or buys her flowers. “Tell me about what you were looking at.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s been a long day. It would be nice to hear about something else for a while.”

She launches into a discussion, albeit one-sided because Oliver can only understand the individual words she uses but not the way they are strung together, about a bakery business, and branding, and algorithms, and content creation, and followers, and engagement. He wonders if his girlfriend would be similarly lost if she actually asked him about his studies. Each of them struggling to make sense of concepts from a time not their own. But the way Liz’s face has lit up - her eyes crinkled around the corners, her smile dazzling, her laughter spilling from a wide grin - it does not matter if he doesn’t understand.

Oliver does not lose himself in his books. Or rather he does. He loves his studies and time, an abstract concept to begin with, ceases to exist when he has found a flow in his writing or reading. But he also uses his studies to avoid the parts of life that don’t fit together the way a translation of ancient Greek that is both factually and poetically accurate does. He avoids his girlfriend, himself, his life that until this summer seemed to be missing some crucial ingredient that would cause it to rise, like yeast in bread.

As Liz’s words surround him like a blanket, comforting him that he has done at least one thing right today, he rubs his hand up and down her arm. He reflects on the questions that the film and its reception raised for him.

When Liz pauses, he bends down and kisses the top of her head, and murmurs, half to himself, “I need to find a library.”

She snorts in laughter, ‘Okayyy, Oliver.” He startles at being called by his own name for the first time all day, until he realizes she is joking, calling him by his character’s name for a reason. “Is your phone broken?”

“Huh? No. No, I don’t think so.”

“What would you need at a library that you couldn’t find online?”

“I - I just want to do some research. To, um, better answer some of the questions at these press events.” Oliver tries to come up with an answer having not understood the question. Graduate school has trained him for this.

Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “But you did so much research before taking this role. You always do.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He is pleased that this Armie fellow took care with preparing to portray Oliver’s and, in turn, Elio’s life. “Some of the questions, not that I couldn’t answer them, but just made me curious about the experience of being gay, not only in the early eighties, but since. It’s just curiosity for history I never learned.”

She hums in understanding. “Well that’s what Wikipedia is for.” She sneaks her hand into Oliver’s front pocket, where his phone, which is also, apparently, an encyclopedia, is and he tries not to flinch at the intimate contact, tries to imagine Elio doing the same. Elio who had taken to treating Oliver’s body as an extension of his own, just as he had taken Oliver’s name as his own. Having retrieved his phone, she pushes on the icon labeled “Safari” and types something and hands it back to him. And there, on a tiny device, tinier still for the size of his hands, is everything he could want to know about anything really, literally at his fingertips.

There is suddenly a feeling like he is standing atop Everest struggling to breathe in the thin air and afraid to peer over the edge. Much like watching the film, he is uncertain how much of the history to come he wants to learn. Liz yawning brings him down to safer ground.

“I’m exhausted,” she rubs her belly gently as she speaks through another yawn. “Bed?”

An hour later, Oliver lies awake next to a gently snoring Liz, grateful that due to her insomnia she has arranged herself in their bed with multiple pillows, prohibiting any type of intimate contact between them. He wonders if this is how married life would be for him or if it is a reaction to being with someone who, kind though she has been, is a stranger and married to someone other than Oliver. Or whether he will spend his lifetime grateful for any excuse to avoid touching his wife in the ways in which he wants to touch men. The ways in which he wants to touch Elio.

Elio, Elio, Elio.

As if they are suddenly in a movie themselves, on cue, Oliver hears faint whimpering from the room next door, floating through the adjoining door, and that, to Oliver’s ears, sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard, sending a shiver of revulsion down his spine. He did this. And he intends to take responsibility for it.

Carefully he slides out from under the duvet and pads across the hotel room to the adjoining door. Liz shifts in her sleep but does not wake up. He is grateful that Elio, despite, or maybe because of, his anger forgot to lock the door.

The bedside lamp illuminates Elio’s form, curled in a ball drowning in the river of his own tears.

“Elio?” Oliver whispers into the nearly dark room. Elio looks up at him through eyelashes clumped together from his tears, the green of his eyes fractured like a glass bottle shattered through careless and clumsy handling. And, yet, his look is not uninviting. As though Elio’s longing for comfort, for someone who knows him, has overcome his anger towards Oliver. Without saying a word, Oliver crawls into the bed and wraps himself around Elio.

Whenever Oliver thinks about being in bed with Elio, and has thought that whenever he _will_ think of Elio in bed, or anywhere, truly, he thinks of them laughing together. He has once before held Elio while he was crying, as Elio cried not wanting him to leave. Now Elio is crying because Oliver will have left. The future perfect tense, Oliver flinches internally at the irony.

Oliver may have guessed that the first words from Elio would be anger, questions, accusations, to which Oliver will admit his guilt. Instead, Elio, with trembling voice, weeps, “I - I miss maman and papa.”

And of course he does, Oliver admonishes himself. Oliver is not the center of his world. Elio has the type of relationship with his parents that anyone would envy. Unlike Oliver’s parents, Elio’s are his support, his secure base in an uncertain world. Now, more than ever, he would need them. Oliver himself longs for Pro’s wisdom and Annella’s calm, practical, and comforting presence as they find themselves in this fever dream turned reality. Oliver recalls the easy physicality of Elio’s affection with his parents, the comfort their touch brings him, and someplace just below his ribcage aches.

Oliver tucks Elio’s head under his chin and presses his lips to his curls, not a kiss, he has lost that right, and somehow, but maybe not surprisingly at all, his scent, underneath the hotel shampoo and the product he has used for his longer curls, is the same.

“I know,” he whispers into the curls. “I know.”

“How do you think this happened?” Elio’s voice is shaky and muffled against Oliver’s chest.

“I don’t know.” The least Oliver can offer is the truth.

“Do you - do you think we’ll ever go back? Go home?” Elio lifts his head and looks Oliver in the eyes and Oliver immediately mourns the loss of the tickle of Elio’s curls against his face and the scent-warmth of him while welcoming the watery green ponds of Elio’s gaze.

“I - I don’t know.” Oliver realizes that for Elio “back” and “home” are synonymous in a way that they are not for him.

Elio lays his head back down, rubbing his nose gently against Oliver’s chest hair and takes a deep breath. “Were you...are you in a relationship? W-with someone else? A girl?”

Oliver feels the dampness against his chest and wraps his arms more tightly around Elio, grateful now to avoid eye contact. The truth, he owes him the truth. “No. No Elio, I wasn’t in a - I’m not in a relationship...with anyone else.” The pause is deep and wide. “It’s been an on and off again thing and we were off; we broke up before I came to Italy. I want to make that clear, Elio. There was - there was no one but you this summer.”

“So were you going to? Are you going to?” Elio sobs. “I - I thought…I thought you...” He cannot speak the words but it is enough. He does know, Oliver realizes. And the knowledge doesn’t give him the solace in his decision that he thought it would.

So Oliver speaks to him gently, like candlelight, and tells him a story. One Elio has never heard before. In this one there is no princess. Just a knight, alone in the world. A knight who thought he had the protection of the gods until his gods were impotent against even the taunts of schoolchildren. A knight whose father pushed him into battle defenseless. A knight who had to build his own armor and that armor was camouflage. And he added layer over layer until the knight was no longer recognizable to himself. And those who claimed they knew him finally determined he was good enough.

Is it better to speak or die? Or does the knight die whether he speaks or not? It is a matter of which death is preferable. And the knight made his choice, the death of not speaking, until he traveled to another land. A land where, when the knight peeled back layer after layer of his armor, he realized that the gods had been reborn, at least within this magical kingdom. And the gods not only protected him when his heart was laid bare and unprotected, but gave him a gift in the form of a brave boy who chose to speak. Who chose to speak about the things that really mattered. And with those words provided an armor for the knight’s heart stronger than any the knight had created for himself. But the knight knew his time in the kingdom was temporary and once he left he would leave the protection of the gods, the protection of the boy’s love, and he would need his own armor once more. And he knew the boy would one day leave the kingdom and need armor of his own. And that was how the knight realized there was another death he could die, the most noble sacrifice a knight can make.

Whenever Oliver thinks about being in bed with Elio, and has thought that whenever he _will_ think of Elio in bed, or anywhere, truly, he thinks of them laughing together. He has once before held Elio while he was crying. But now they are crying together as the sheets and duvet hold them close.

Elio turns his head slightly and presses a kiss into Oliver’s chest, where a spot of warmth blooms between the rivers left by the tracks of Elio’s tears. He continues to mouth soft kisses along his chest to his collarbone as Oliver grips the back of Elio’s head, holding him to him. Elio lifts his head as Oliver loosens his hold, looking Oliver in the eyes before launching himself at his mouth, kissing him deeply. Oliver lets a whimper escape. He had let himself believe that he would never again experience the soft warmth of Elio’s kiss again. Another way of protecting himself, another layer of armor.

As Elio lays himself on top of Oliver, his cock, hardening as they kiss, presses against Oliver’s hip. Oliver trails his hand down, threading through Elio’s hair, down his back, and to his ass, sliding his large hand inside the joggers Elio has worn for sleeping, pulling him closer still. Elio grips Oliver’s biceps with his long slender pianist’s fingers and Oliver wonders if he will leave marks, wants him to leave marks, wants Elio tattooed on his skin, the way he has left his mark on Oliver in less tangible but no less real ways. Instinctively he thrusts up, letting Elio feel how impacted Oliver is. He wants to be inside Elio and Elio inside him, joined in every way possible. For Oliver is Elio and Elio is Oliver and joined together they are ouroboros. Devouring themselves, they are uncertain whose moan is swallowed by which mouth, as they press and thrust against each other. Oliver feels such relief and salvation. He could easily come like this, like new lovers excited and carried away on waves of pleasure driven by the tide of finally feeling skin against skin, becoming one as sweat mixes with sweat, learning the topography under finger-tipped explorers. Elio having helped Oliver finally shine a light on his deepest shame, and like the sunshine for which he is named purified it, and birthed Oliver anew. Tonight they come together as lovers, brothers, sons, and fathers.

And yet they are familiar lovers, having known each other since before they met, previously existing in their absence from their lives thus far. And Oliver knows he does not want the climax of a new lover, he wants to be so deep within Elio, that Elio can feel it in his heart, where Oliver now feels certain he will reside forever. The lifeline no longer cut, repaired, not in the same shape but as something new. Rather than mourn the loss of what was, they are celebrating this new connection, one that cannot be severed no matter how much time may pass. Should they see each other tomorrow, next week, or never again. It is not what it was and it is better for it.

With great reluctance Oliver pries Elio from him and gets up from the bed to grab the small body lotion from the hotel bathroom. He ignores the tattooed finger on the hand helping Elio hold open his thighs as he fingers him. He is slow and gentle until Elio is writhing and messy underneath him, lips bite-swollen, curls spread across the pillow, hands gripping the bed sheets, his feet, as long and slender and beautiful as his hands, pointed like a dancer, his eyes glassy with arousal, his belly flexed, and his slender hips thrusting in small unconscious movement, begging pants spilling from his mouth. Oliver takes a moment to admire him, burning the image to his memory, before he slicks himself and enters him. Home at last.

When Oliver slides himself out from Elio, as gently as possible, he presses kisses to Elio’s chest, unconsciously mirroring Elio’s actions earlier. However, rather than journey towards Elio’s mouth, his lips travel down his torso, lapping at the come spilled during their love-making, wanting to be marked from the inside just as he marked Elio, affirming their oneness. As his journey leads him to the curls surrounding Elio’s softening cock, he gently licks at the head as a nursing kitten might and Elio shivers with pleasure layered atop oversensitivity, just at the edge of discomfort. As he licks, he allows his fingertips to trail down between Elio’s legs, to trace around his slightly swollen entrance, feeling his own release inside Elio. There is a slip-sliding sense of pleasure in the knowledge that he is in Elio and Elio is in him and as his lips follow his hand’s lead, the circle completes itself. Self devouring self.

Oliver rests his head on Elio’s thigh, no thicker than Oliver’s arm. It should not be comfortable but he feels cradled in a way that he has not been since he was an infant, perhaps not even then. Elio’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging enough to ground him, to reassure him of Elio’s presence. Eventually his fingers grow limp and heavy with sleep, as do Oliver’s eyelids. As Oliver drifts to sleep, two thoughts cross his mind.

Oliver and Elio never had reason to use a condom before. Oliver’s encounters with men were infrequent. Although there was, perhaps still is, so much mystery surrounding this new plague, Oliver felt reassured he had not experienced any of the tell tale symptoms and he had always refrained from what had begun to be called “high risk” behaviors. As if, one day, he might be called to account for his actions and he could say “Yes, but I never…” until Elio. And Elio, Elio had been a virgin prior to his experimental encounters with Marzia this summer. Oliver had been certain, or certain enough, that they were both free from any venereal disease. But tonight they made love in bodies as familiar as their own and yet not their own. Had they been reckless with each other? Had they been reckless with the health of two men they may never meet? Elio, rather Timmy is young, Oliver reassures himself before he recalls young men in New York City turned to withered old men overnight. And Oliver, or Armie, has a wife and two young children, which surely speaks to his relative good health at least sexually.

Although this leads to his second thought. On the other side of the door sleeps a woman whose husband, for all intents and purposes, has now been unfaithful to her. Oliver worries about hurting Armie’s wife and harming their family by his actions. And, simultaneously, and selfishly, he thinks of himself. Would this be his life if it went according to plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things are scary out there for many of us with the news about COVID-19. Please take recommended precautions to protect our communities especially those most vulnerable among us. Fandom and fanfic have gifted me with incredible community around the world - let us take care of ourselves and each other, especially now. May you and your loved ones be well and safe. 
> 
> I'm thatajthings on tumblr - reach out there for anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy and Armie adjust to life in the CMBYN world, and an unexpected change-up to the piano scene leaves Timmy feeling rather out of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I want to apologize for this chapter coming a bit later than planned. You might be aware that the world is going kinda crazy at the moment, and my amped up anxiety kinda fucked with my ability to write much this week. So to that end, we're making a slight adjustment to the posting schedule. We will still (hopefully) be updating twice a week, but now ThatAJ will be taking Wednesdays and I'll be doing my chapters on Sundays. So we just switched it around but hopefully you all will not mind too much. Anyway! I thank you for your patience and hope you enjoy this chapter! :D
> 
> Also, I will definitely be going back to answer comments on my previous chapters, I just want you all to know how much I appreciate every single one. They make my day. Thank you all. <333

It only takes until the next day for Timmy and Armie to realize that, even though their experience filming the movie spanned the six week period from the novel condensed into 2 hours, they were now living out the full six weeks in real time. 

Logically, it shouldn’t have been surprising, but it still somehow catches them off guard when they wake up and find they don’t know how to react to the conversations happening at breakfast because it isn’t one of the scenes they filmed. Armie seems to find it easier to adapt – his natural charm taking over and allowing him to find a good rhythm with everyone in the villa. 

But Timmy finds it more of a challenge to slip back into Elio’s headspace than he once did. It’s not that he doesn’t know the character – he’s never identified with one of his characters so much – but more that his anxiety about the entire scenario keeps him from fully relaxing into things, and he’s constantly on edge about being found out and what that might mean.

And then there’s Armie. When he’d asked Armie for a bit of space, it wasn’t because he actually _wanted_ that, but because he thought it was the only way to stop this growing need he had to be around Armie all the time. It had been steadily building over the months they were on the road together, and by the end of things, it was almost impossible to breathe when Armie wasn’t there with him. And he knew that if he allowed things to continue as they had been, he’d never survive being an entire continent away from him for months at a time.

And now here they are, stuck together in Crema for who knows how long, having to pretend to be Elio and Oliver again, only this time there isn’t anyone to call cut, no separate apartment to escape to, and no Liz around to remind him of all the reasons why he shouldn’t be falling for a married straight guy with two kids. It’s the worst kind of torture to have temptation so close and know he has to resist.

But despite his initial apprehension to spend so much time in close quarters with Armie, he finds it easy enough to slip back into their normal routine with one another, or at least as normal as one could be under the circumstances. He doesn’t really have much other choice, and Armie seems to have an innate ability to calm him even in his worst bouts of anxiety. But it leads him to be in a constant state of war with himself between enjoying having Armie there with him and hating the intense feelings that come with it.

He’s suddenly grateful that he’d kept up with playing the piano in the months in between the end of filming and now, because watching Armie realize that his genius plan to play along and pretend to be their characters also meant that he would have to work on a thesis about Heraclitus was almost painful. But after the initial freak out, Armie surprises him by going all in and fully committing to it, doing research in every spare minute that he doesn’t have to act like Oliver in front of others. Luckily, there’s a partly-written thesis in Oliver’s bag, so Armie tries to take what is already there and expand on it with the research he does. Watching him get so into the subject is fascinating to Timmy, like a whole new side of Armie he’s never seen before.

Timmy, for his part, spends his free time scouring every possible source to figure out both how they got into this mess, and how the hell they’re going to get out of it. Looking through the vast number of books in Samuel’s study isn’t very helpful, so he takes advantage of his “unscripted” time and goes into town to the library to find every book there is on time travel, alternate universes, magic, witchcraft, or anything else he can think of that might help.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t find anything that can explain how they ended up in a seemingly real version of the fictional story they had acted out almost two years ago, and after three straight nights of no sleep trying to figure it out, Armie confiscates the books and makes him get some rest. When he wakes the next morning to Armie coming in to check on him before they head down to breakfast, he reluctantly accepts that there isn’t going to be any magic fix for whatever the hell is going on, and he decides to just follow Armie’s lead on letting things play themselves out. At least for now.

As the days go by, Timmy finally settles back fully into Elio’s skin, this time having to pay even closer attention to every move than he did before. On the day of the volleyball game, he has to remind himself not to lean into Armie’s touch as he normally would as Timmy, but rather flinch away like Elio would. He’s never resented Elio’s obliviousness more than in that moment.

And when he picks up his guitar and goes to sit on the stone bench in the backyard a few days later, he can’t help but remember what it was like on the day they filmed this scene. Standing on Armie’s feet, being so close to his warm, sun-kissed skin…he’s almost too distracted to notice when he strums the wrong chord. Armie turns his face to look at him from where he’s lying in a grass, one eyebrow quirking up in a mixture of amusement and concern.

Timmy ducks his head as he feels heat creep up his face, trying desperately to hide the reason for his distraction. He isn’t sure if Armie truly doesn’t notice or just pretends not to, but there’s a fond smile on Armie’s face as he repeats the “That sounds nice. Play it again, will ya?” line, so he swallows back his embarrassment and returns the smile before getting up to walk into the villa. He tries to ignore the way he can feel Armie’s eyes on him as he passes where Armie is laying, the skin on his back prickling as he walks past the table full of people and through the door.

As he sits down at the piano, his mind goes over the piece in his head, wondering how different it will be to play this scene out without the added pressure of having to get it all right in one take. He knows if he messes up, Armie won’t care, but there’s still some part of him that wants to get it right, anyway.

When he hears the soft shuffle of Armie’s shoes on the floor, he begins playing, his fingers sliding over the correct keys from muscle memory. He’s expecting Armie to stand in the doorway as he plays, so when Armie starts to move further into the room and stops right beside the piano, he’s caught more than a little off guard. 

He somehow manages to keep his composure long enough to finish the first version of the piece without screwing up, and he’s pretty proud of himself for that. But when Armie speaks, it’s not what he’s expecting to hear.

“You remembered it. I’m impressed.”

He knows Armie can see the surprise written all over his face when his head snaps up to look at him. His eyes quickly dart behind them to the doorway to make sure no one else is within earshot.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

Armie seems completely unphased by his question, which doesn’t exactly make him feel any better.

“What? It’s fine. No one is coming in here, it’s just us.”

Logically, he knew that was true, but he couldn’t help the wave of anxiety rolling through him. It’s wasn’t just the fear of being caught, but also having Armie standing so close to him when he wasn’t prepared for it was making his skin break out in goosebumps.

“Come on, keep going. You remember the other versions as well as that one?”

The hint of teasing in Armie’s tone sparks something in him, something so “Elio” he actually has to stop himself from the mocking response he wants to give. Instead, he straightens his back and clenches his jaw in concentration as he begins to play the Busoni version of the piece.

He can hear Armie’s quiet chuckle as he puts his whole body into it, playing it flawlessly yet again. This is familiar territory, the teasing and challenging each other. It’s easy to slip into and get caught up in. It’s defining the line between teasing and flirting that he’s started having a hard time with in the past few months.

When he finishes with a flourish, he isn’t sure what he’s expecting to happen next. But Armie sitting down on the edge of the piano bench next to him is definitely not it.

“Ok admit it, you totally practiced these even after we finished filming.”

Armie’s voice is surprisingly soft, and he can practically feel the vibration of the sound in his own chest. He clears his throat and reaches a hand back to scratch at his neck as a way to distract himself from the sudden desire to lean into Armie’s side.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Another low chuckle, this one makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Uh huh, right. Ok then, great piano wonder, play the last one.”

A chill runs down his spine and he wiggles on the bench, moving over slightly so Armie can settle his weight more firmly on it. That proves to be a huge mistake, because when Armie slides over, he ends up even closer to him then before, and his body heat feels like it could light him on fire at any moment.

Taking a deep breath, he places his fingers over the starting keys and begins to play slowly, mindful to keep his breathing even so Armie doesn’t detect what being so close to him is doing to his body. He makes it almost the entire way through without a single mistake until about four bars from the end, when he hears Armie let out an appreciative hum, and his pinky slips and hits the wrong key.

He stops short, hands still on the piano but no longer playing. And then Armie makes everything so much worse by leaning in and reaching his own hand up to cover one of his, moving Timmy’s pinky back onto the correct key and pushing down so the tone rings out in the otherwise silent room.

“I think it’s this one.”

Timmy’s throat is suddenly way too dry to actually respond, and he can barely even manage to nod his head the slightest bit as he swallows hard. Armie moves his hand back but still remains close by his side. It’s not the least bit unusual for them to forgo personal space, having become so physically comfortable with each other over the last couple of years that it’s practically their norm. But right now, he’s having trouble breathing and he can feel the beads of sweat from his hairline start to slowly trickle down his back. Armie is like a walking furnace and he’s _too close_.

He’s not sure what else to do, so he continues playing, completing the last few measures with ease and letting his hands slowly slip from the keys back down into his lap. He doesn’t dare speak, not trusting his own voice right now, or the words that might come out if he tries.

They sit there without saying anything until the last note completely fades from the room and there’s nothing but silence surrounding them. He desperately wants to say _something_ , ask what this was, why Armie deviated from the script they had been so careful to follow up until now, but before he can think of the right words, Armie is moving away, then sliding off the bench to stand.

“You really do play beautifully. Maybe someday, if we ever make it back to our real lives again, we can play together. I’m sure the kids would love it.”

He’s completely caught off guard by Armie’s words, and it takes his brain a bit too long to piece them together to make any real sense. But just as it finally hits him and he’s about to formulate a response, Armie gives him a small smile and swiftly ducks back out into the backyard, leaving him with his mouth hanging open as he tries to figure out what just happened.

The only thing he knows for sure: he’s completely fucked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days are exhausting. More so for Elio than Oliver. Oliver has been an actor all his life, only this past summer did he step off a stage and into the living, but Elio is not used to it...Oliver slips more easily into the skin of Armie and at night slips easily into Elio’s room where he is given the opportunity to be protector.

Despite Oliver’s wishes to avoid hurting Armie or his family, every day that passes in which he and Elio are not transported back to their time and place, he finds it harder to feel guilty for waiting for Armie’s wife to fall asleep before sneaking into Elio’s room to spend the night until rosy-fingered dawn prods him back to the marital bed. 

He is driven there not only by his aching self-serving desire to be with Elio, to feel his smooth porcelain skin that looks like carved marble but feels warm and soft to the touch, to be pressed up against him, their hearts beating, not as one, but in melody and harmony with each other, but also by a more altruistic desire to comfort Elio. Although, deep down, the parts of Oliver that he wishes he could cut from himself and be rid of, this too is a narcissistic desire. To be the one who is able to comfort Elio - although in this instance it is a test-taking strategy learned as a youngster, a process of elimination that leaves him as Elio’s sole comfort - brings Oliver a sick selfish joy. As panic retreats from Elio’s eyes, as his body grows limp with sleep, and he clings to Oliver day after exhausting day, Oliver thinks _I did this, this calm where there once was a stormy sea, is because of me._ He knows he will surely have to pay for this, this fulfillment of his own desires, as though inside him is a pond that smooths over the worst of him and reflects back only the best, he may become stuck there, forget himself, forget the price that he will have to pay, or worse, that he will have to make Elio pay. 

The days are exhausting. More so for Elio than Oliver. Oliver has been an actor all his life, only this past summer did he step off a stage and into the living, but Elio is not used to it. Even when he plays piano, takes on the persona of the composer, or even when he plays at the different styles of composers playing the same notes, he is authentically himself. He is, of course, still a teenager, and who he is, who he wants to be, may change by the day, the hour, or sometimes minute, but he is always in the moment himself. Does not understand what it is to don another’s facade for protection, for survival. He is like an orchid, delicate and beautiful, needing exact conditions under which to bloom, and he has never been outside the green house of his family. 

Oliver slips more easily into the skin of Armie and at night slips easily into Elio’s room where he is given the opportunity to be protector. 

Not that Oliver does not struggle as he fields questions that presuppose a world in which this film can exist and, not only exist, but exist to a warm reception and critical acclaim. He believes art both reflects the time in which it is created and also holds up a mirror to its soul reflecting the culture’s deepest fears and highest aspirations. He understands this film is not a box-office romantic comedy, it is being screened at film festivals, and will open in select cities before a wider release. He understands from this that it is not yet mainstream and yet. And yet. 

He shifts slightly in bed, careful not to jostle Elio, who is clinging to him like a life raft. Tonight, when he entered Elio’s room, he had found him crying, eyes filled with accusation for Oliver, and his duvet tucked around him protectively. 

That day at the question and answer, the moderator, who did not even bother to learn to pronounce Timothee or Luca’s names correctly, asked Elio about the film’s through-line of a passionate summer and heartbreak. Oliver had tried to save Elio by noting how young he, or rather Timothee, is, only to have Elio interrupt him with an almost flippant “oh there’s been heartbreak,” his words burning with smoldering fire that stings and brings tears to the eyes. 

Oliver attempts to apologize to Elio through his answering of the same question, “One of the base things this film deals with is the nature of desire and the nature of locating, isolating, figuring out that thing inside you and what it is. And are you repressing it or are you being healthy and integrating it into your whole life as a whole?” Acknowledging that the desire is there, that what he feels for Elio is what Elio feels for him and that is not in question. Oliver had hoped that he already made this clear to Elio but also understands that doubt can crawl in through the smallest of cracks and replace the certain thing that is his love with its disease. He knows he has left cracks between them, has not repaired them with reassurances and recompenses for his decision. For Oliver does not know that he would, that he will, make a different decision. After all, nothing has changed, despite being thrust suddenly into this inexplicable situation. 

“Desire is a powerful human emotion and you can see the fruition of how beautiful it can be in this situation. But I also know that if you take that desire and you don’t handle that desire properly it can eat you alive.” Oliver concludes hoping to place in a box this balance scale of following desire where it leads without fear and abiding by the healthy paranoia for the consequences of the type of love two men share. 

He believed that Elio had picked up the bottle Oliver had dropped at his feet and popped the cork to read the message inside and understood it. They were able to joke quietly with each other as Michael and Luca answered questions. 

And then Luca was asked about his decision to pan to the tree outside Elio’s room during what is now being called the “midnight scene.” Oliver feels uncomfortable with the level of intimacy the film already puts on display and is grateful for Luca’s decision. Luca, however, takes a microscope and magnifies the intimacy that is evident in what has been included in the film, noting the clear intimacy that is communicated by Elio and Oliver placing their feet one on top of the other and Oliver is suddenly split in two. One part of his mind falling into the pool of that memory, the moments in which he wished for his feet to be his entire body, and surprise that the reason Luca did not include the more graphic parts of their love-making had nothing to do with audience reception. The decision was not made to make the film more palatable and, in fact, Luca felt he had shown the audience their most intimate moments. 

Oliver is slowly adapting to living in a world in which this movie exists as it does. He is good friends with his mind, his intellect. He and his emotions are on speaking terms but they are not as well-acquainted as Oliver and his intellect. Intellectually he knows this film exists and although he does not yet know the history of things to come that has led the world here, he understands that this will be something he will be able to understand through rational thought. His emotions are taking sometime to catch up. In the meantime, being on stage, in front of an audience who has seen him at his most intimate with another man, something he had planned to hide away, to keep buried and safe, as one would bury a treasure, in the memories of the passionate summer, he was overcome with nameless emotions that invade his body and overtake his mind. 

He found himself, at that moment, playing with Armie’s wedding ring. It is at once both a gesture devoid of thought or care, driven by an instinctual need to self-soothe, and extraordinarily meaningful as he still fully intends to one day wear a wedding ring of his own. Although, he had thought, upon seeing it for the first time, he will likely abstain from the matching tattoo Armie wears underneath, given the prohibitions of his faith against marking the skin. The balance was tipped in favor of the meaning imbued in such a gesture as he became aware of Elio looking at him. He caught his eye and attempted to hold it but Elio flashed him a small smile and broke their gaze, leaving Oliver adrift.

For Oliver, the panel was over. He was suddenly uncomfortable in his skin and anxious and he knew he was doing a poor job of covering it. He hoped this would not hurt Armie or his career, and knew he had the practice to be a better actor, but the emotions were flooding him and he could barely keep his nose above the rising tide. He answered the final prepared question, regarding the warm reception the film has received, like a man attempting to bail out a rapidly filling boat. He joked about hating it before trying to send a final distress signal to Elio, hoping he would receive it and understand it, that his knowledge of multiple languages has helped make him fluent in Oliver during the six-week course he took. “The warm reception to Luca’s film doesn’t hold a candle to the actual experience of making the movie, I had that. So this is great but having that experience is something that will stick with me forever.” 

Whether Elio understood what Oliver was trying to communicate or whether his message reached him too little and too late, remains to be seen. Either way, Elio was distraught that night and Oliver is culpable. He held Elio, close to his chest, his heart both breaking and beating for him, murmuring comforting nonsense sounds because he refused to lie to Elio and he could not tell him what he wanted to hear. 

Elio has fallen asleep but Oliver lies awake, his intellect having taken over once more, smoothing the choppy sea left in emotions’ wake. 

He shifts slightly in bed, careful not to jostle Elio, who is clinging to him like a life raft, as he reaches for his cell phone. He presses his finger to the icon labeled “Safari,” recalling Liz directing him to that point. His vast experience with academia thus far has taught him to start with the broadest terms possible when searching endless card catalogues. Ever the skilled researcher, he types into the search bar at the top of the screen and his eyes are suddenly filled with pictures, no bigger than his fingernail, of naked men all manner of sexual positions, many of which Oliver could not have even imagined. 

This was not what Oliver had intended by his search and yet it is not unwelcome. He shifts unconsciously, his cock filling and fattening in response to the repetitive motion of the small images. Elio stirs and as he shifts, his leg slides over Oliver’s groin and Oliver lets out a groan before he can stop himself, the hand holding his cell phone dropping down to his mouth moments too late as his other arm is full of lithe brunette. Elio’s eyes blink open in confusion, still red-rimmed and puffy from crying. “Oliver?” His voice is low and scratchy with sleep. 

Oliver leans down and kisses Elio, softly, letting the phone drop to the bed beside him, the duvet softening its landing, Oliver’s lips are gentle on Elio’s, not wanting to presume, but also seeking his own reassurance, that they are okay. That although their future together might be uncertain, as the future is for everyone, Elio and Oliver just have the special curse of knowing the particular way in which their future remains undecided, Oliver needs reassurance that the lifeline tying them together remains. That it will always remain. That as rotten as he is at the core, he can never spoil this. 

Elio’s lips part, and Oliver sighs with both want and relief, as though the gates of Eden opened once again. And, minutes or hours later, as he rocks gently into Elio, lying side-by-side, he drops his head to Elio’s shoulder, pressing gentle kisses in place of words he dare not utter. 

Somewhere between lying entangled, sweaty, and boneless with Elio, and running a washcloth under warm water to clean them both, Oliver’s mind settles on a word, recalling it from his conversation with Liz that first confusing day. As Elio settles back against his body, his head resting in the fleshy patch where Oliver’s arm and torso meet, Oliver picks up his phone and types “Wikipedia” into the search bar. 

The light from the phone prompts Elio to open his eyes and he observes Oliver as he navigates from his initial clumsy search terms to” LGBT Rights in the US.” Elio, intrigued, grabs his own phone, his fingers following the same route as Oliver’s. They make themselves comfortable, using each other and the soft, forgiving pillows for support. As they read, Oliver loses himself as he often does when trying to learn and retain new information. He also wonders, idly, how quickly Elio reads, how he retains knowledge, what study strategies, if any he uses, or if his incredible native intelligence is enough for the speed and ease with which he must learn, given the vast wealth of his knowledge.

Oliver realizes that while he knows Elio, knows him better than he knows himself, that knowledge is of the sum of Elio. The facts that added together make up his beloved, he has yet to learn. And, as the next moment bumps into this one, he realizes all the things he wants to know about Elio. He wants to know everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tenses are the devil and the things that trip me up the most consistently when I write. This chapter is a mess of them and if there are any errors, especially with verb tenses, they are entirely my own.
> 
> I hope you are each well as we continue to face this global crisis. Writing has been both challenging during this time and a welcome escape. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be in this community and share this project. 
> 
> Thank you for each comment and kudos. I'm thatajthings on tumblr - you can connect with me there about anything!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shift occurs in the boys' relationship, but things go very awry when they start to fuss with things too much, and they discover some truths they weren't prepared to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you all are doing well and keeping safe and healthy and sane. I know things are rough for us all right now, but I hope this update can provide you with a bit of an escape from all that for a little bit.
> 
> This chapter marks a big shift in the story overall, and introduces a concept I am pretty excited about. I hope you all are receptive to it and can trust me with how it will play out going forward.
> 
> Thank you so much for the all the love this story has gotten. It's been so fun to write so far, and I hope you guys enjoy the rest of what we have planned! <333

There’s a definite shift in things between Armie and Timmy after the incident at the piano. Armie isn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but ever since he changed up the script a bit that day, things have been getting looser between them. When other people are around, they make sure to stay strictly in character, but when it’s just the two of them – and as the days go on and the story moves forward, ends up being more and more often – they allow themselves more freedoms than they had in the beginning.

It’s a subtle shift, but it feels somehow significant to Armie. He just can’t put his finger on why. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful that Timmy seems to be feeling more comfortable about their predicament than in the first few days. 

It isn’t like Armie isn’t very aware and worried about the possible implications of playing this story out to its completion. But seeing as Timmy tried everything from ancient spells to hopping around on one foot backwards in a circle in an attempt to get them back home, none of which did anything but attract weird stares from anyone in the immediate area, it seems they are in this for the long haul. And of course he misses Liz and the kids and hopes that they are ok without him. But the last time he remembers being happy, _truly_ happy, was when they were filming Call Me By Your Name, so having a chance to return to that feeling and live in it for another few weeks isn’t the worst thing he could think of. And having Timmy here with him makes it all the better.

They dip into a comfortable balance of playing out the scripted story when necessary and finding ways to bask in the joys of another summer in Italy. There are definite challenges – the lack of modern technology, for one. When Timmy scrapes his knee pretty bad after falling from his bike, Armie has to half carry him close to a mile before they can find someone with the proper medical kit to get him fixed up. As they limp back to collect their bikes a couple hours later, Timmy whines about not having a cell phone to be able to call an Uber.

Armie adapts better to not having modern conveniences, having grown up on an island during his formative years and not learning to be as dependent on devices as Timmy had been. But even he finds it a bit annoying at times, mostly when he wants to listen to his own music and all he can find around the villa is Italian opera and Elio’s classical tapes.

But overall, he’s surprised to find how freeing it is to not have people calling or texting every minute of the day. It takes a little while to adjust to the sense of quiet surrounding him, so used to the constant chaos of having two young kids who always need something that it’s a little unnerving to only have to worry about himself for a change.

Still, there are times when the quiet gets to be too much, so when they get to the night where they all go out dancing at Le Danzing, he’s actually looking forward to it. He’s still not a huge fan of dancing in public, but knowing that there will be actual music to dance to this time and there won’t be a hundred people staring at him helps him overcome some of his anxiety about it.

But when Chiara sidles up next to him and asks to dance in her best flirty voice, he stiffens slightly. He’s tempted to decline, but since Timmy is still off getting drinks with the rest of the teenagers, he can’t really think of a good reason. So he accepts, but he maintains a bit more distance between them than he’d had with Victoire when they were filming. And he doesn’t move in to kiss her, much to her disappointment.

When the song changes to Love My Way, he can’t help but break out in a big grin. He glances over to Timmy briefly and sees he has a small grin of his own, though he is trying to hide it from the rest of the kids at the table. There’s something about being in this time and place, hearing that song and seeing Timmy across the dance floor that hits Armie in a way he’s never felt before. It’s a type of freedom and lightness that he hadn’t even experienced during filming the scene, too wrapped up in his own self-consciousness to allow the feeling to pass through him.

For the first time ever, he allows himself to really get lost in the song, dancing freely without any thought to what he looks like. He’s so gone that when a bony shoulder knocks into him halfway through the song, it startles him before he realizes that it’s just Timmy. He’s looking at him with an amused smirk on his face, like he wants to crack a joke but knows it isn’t the right place. Armie rolls his eyes affectionately and continues dancing, chuckling as he watches Timmy hop around the dance floor like a hyper rabbit.

He can’t help but notice that Timmy continues to stay pretty close to him as he dances and doesn’t really pay much attention to Marzia, even after the song changes again and something a little more mellow comes on. Marzia ends up moving off to the side to talk to some of her other friends while he and Timmy continue to move around each other in an ever shrinking circle.

After another couple songs, when he’s sweaty and his limbs are tired, Armie makes his way over to the bar to grab a drink. While he’s waiting for it to be made, he glances back to the dance floor and sees Timmy still bopping about. He smiles, knowing Timmy must be in heaven right now.

Once he has his drink in hand, he starts over to where the tables are to rest for a few minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marzia move closer to Timmy and whisper something in his ear, her lips twisted up in a coy smile. He thinks back to the movie and knows what scene comes next – Elio and Marzia going swimming at the lake. He takes a sip of his drink and tries not to think about why that image unsettles him.

But as he continues to watch, he sees Timmy whisper something back to her that makes her smile fade. It clearly wasn’t what she was hoping to hear and Armie wonders what Timmy said to her. She nods and gives a slight wave before moving back over to the rest of her girlfriends. Armie’s curiosity spikes even higher when Timmy turns his gaze to him and starts walking over to where he’s seated.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here, go back to the villa?”

The immediate answer his brain supplies is a resounding “yes”, but he’s still confused why he turned Marzia down. He takes a beat to weigh his options, trying to decide between asking or just letting it go. He’s always happy to have Timmy’s company, no matter the reason. So he opts to just follow Timmy’s lead and go with it.

“Uh sure, yeah. Let’s go.”

He sees the corner of Timmy’s lips twist up in a grin just seconds before Timmy turns on his heel and starts making his way toward the road. Armie quickly takes another quick gulp of his drink before leaving it on the table and following after Timmy.

He catches up a few paces down the road and they settle into an easy stride as they walk side by side, hands occasionally grazing each other along the way. Timmy isn’t exactly in a chatty mood but Armie doesn’t mind, finding it rather nice to just walk together in the cool night air, listening to the cicadas and letting his mind wander.

When they reach the villa, Armie can tell Timmy doesn’t want to go back to his room alone yet, and truthfully he doesn’t, either. An idea strikes him and a grin slowly spreads over his face.

“Hey, come with me. I have something I think you’ll like.”

Timmy’s eyebrow quirks at his statement but he follows without hesitation. The villa is quiet, most everyone already asleep or at least in their room for the night. They ascend the stairs quietly and shuffle into Armie’s room together, where Armie digs out the small baggie of weed he’d discovered in the bottom of Oliver’s suitcase a few days prior. Timmy’s face lights up when Armie waves it in front of him, and they quickly roll a joint and light up.

An hour later, Timmy is sprawled on his back on the bed and Armie is sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the side of it, trying to stifle their giggles as they reminisce about their days filming the movie that they now find themselves living out for real.

Once the giggles wear off and they are quiet again, his mind drifts back to earlier in the evening and suddenly he has to know what happened.

“Hey Timmy?”

It takes a few seconds for any kind of acknowledgment to come, and when it does, it’s more of a grunt than anything else.

“Why didn’t you go with Marzia to the lake?”

There’s another long pause, and he thinks maybe Timmy fell asleep. But finally he hears shuffling and then a few seconds later Timmy is propped up on his elbow leaning sideways over the bed, his face so close to Armie’s that he can smell the smoke still lingering on his breath even though they finished the joint a while ago.

“I just felt weird about it, ya know? I’m not really Elio, and I don’t want her to think I’m interested when I’m not. And besides, I want…” Timmy cuts himself off with a groan and rolls onto his back again, hands covering his face.

Armie, in his drug-induced haze, takes a minute to catch up to what is happening. But eventually he clues into the fact that Timmy is suddenly nervous, and he needs to know why. He wills his body to scramble up from the floor and he plops down on the bed, leaning to hover over Timmy’s covered face.

“Timmy?”

Another groan, and Timmy doesn’t move his hands, but when Armie goes to pry them away himself, Timmy allows him to. Timmy’s eyes remain scrunched closed for a few seconds before he finally relaxes. Armie waits patiently until finally, after several deep breaths, Timmy’s eyes pop open and reluctantly meet his.

“What do you want, Tim?”

Timmy’s eyes search his in the darkness, clearly trying to decide how much to reveal. The weed helps a bit with that, his inhibitions already lowered, but he still seems hesitant. After a few seconds, Timmy blows out a sigh.

“I guess…I mean I know what I said before all this happened. About boundaries. And at the time I meant it. Still do, when all this is over. But it’s been…nice, these past couple weeks. Getting to spend more time with you. Just us. Remembering what it was like in the beginning. And if I had to choose between going off with a complete stranger who I’m not attracted to or spending more time with you…well, then I choose you.”

It takes a minute for Timmy’s words to sink in, his delayed responses making it difficult to understand the nuances of the turn their conversation has taken, even though he realizes things have decidedly shifted.

But before he has a chance to figure it out and formulate a response, Timmy suddenly sits straight up, forcing him to move back so Timmy’s head doesn’t collide with his.

“Anyway, I should go to bed. Thanks for the weed.”

Armie is still trying to figure out what’s going on as Timmy rises from the bed and slips through the door to the bathroom, closing it tightly behind him. Armie collapses back onto the bed with his own frustrated sigh, not sure what to make of the past five minutes and the way the air around them suddenly got heavier.

It’s not an altogether unfamiliar feeling, but he’s only experienced it in fleeting moments in their relationship before, never quite long enough for him to get a handle on what it really meant, if it even meant anything. His relationship with Timmy has never been “normal”. From the moment they met it’s been something he could never explain, he just knew it was not like anything else he’d ever known. He never thought to question it, happy to use their unique bond to create a piece of art that he’s damn proud of.

But now it feels different, and he can’t explain why. There are no cameras, no movie, no audience or reporters. It had just been them, and Timmy had clearly been trying to communicate something important to him, but he wasn’t able to decipher what it was through the fog of smoke in his brain. It’s one of the few times in his life he wishes he hadn’t gotten high. Maybe then he could figure out why Timmy’s face had looked both pained and maybe the tiniest bit hopeful? He wishes he could rewind time by a couple hours and ask him before things got all hazy.

He tries in vain to focus on everything that they’d said and what he might have missed that could help, but the pot is too strong, and within a few minutes his mind drifts off and he falls into a peaceful slumber.

When he wakes up the next morning, he immediately has the feeling of something being off. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but it’s just an instinct of something being not right. He hears the shower running in the bathroom, so he can’t ask Timmy if he feels it, too.

He manages to get dressed, his mind tripping over the events of last night, still unsure what to make of it. He knows he needs to find a time to talk to Timmy about things, but first he needs to eat breakfast. No use in trying to have a productive conversation on an empty stomach.

The weird feeling intensifies as he makes his way outside for breakfast, and it isn’t until he’s a few feet away that it suddenly becomes clear. The conversation he overhears Samuel and Annella having is exactly the same one they’d had yesterday morning. He freezes just out of their eyesight, hovering in the doorway and waits, hoping he’s wrong and that the next sentence he hears won’t be one he already knows is coming.

But when the familiar words hit his ears, his breath catches in his throat and he’s seized with a fear he hasn’t felt since the first day they arrived here. He isn’t sure what’s happening, but he _knows_ something is very wrong. He’s just about to turn around and go back upstairs and drag Timmy out of the shower if necessary, but just then Mafalda appears from the kitchen and starts speaking to him in Italian he can only somewhat make out. But the gist of it is urging him to go out and eat with the others.

He stumbles back out into the warm summer morning air and tries to plaster on his best fake smile as greetings float his way. It’s all he can do to listen to the exact same exchange he heard yesterday morning about the state of the Italian educational system and try to convince himself he hasn’t completely lost it.

When Timmy finally emerges a little while later, he desperately tries to get his attention, but Timmy seems to be lost in his own thoughts and doesn’t notice. But it only takes a minute for him to pick up on the repeated conversation and his head snaps up, eyes frantically searching for Armie’s across the table.

There isn’t much they can do until they are alone, but he lets Timmy know that he’s aware of the situation as well as he can without alerting the two elder Perlman’s that anything is amiss. When he sees an opportunity to reach for the newspaper, he seizes on it, carefully grabbing it as nonchalantly as possible and scanning it for the date.

When his eyes land on it, it confirms what he feared – they were indeed reliving the previous day over again, much like a Groundhog Day scenario. What he still doesn’t understand is _why_. All the other days had progressed normally until now, so to suddenly be redoing this day seems to go against the set rules of whatever crazy universe they were in from the beginning.

They somehow make it through the meal without totally freaking out, but they retreat back upstairs with great haste as soon as they finish. Once the door is securely closed behind them, Armie turns around and sees Timmy’s panicked eyes and wonders if he’s going to have another panic attack. But after a few deep breaths, Timmy seems to calm himself enough to speak.

“Armie, what the hell is going on? Why are we repeating the same day again?”

Once again, he desperately wishes he had answers to give, but he’s just as in the dark about this entire thing as Timmy is, and it’s disconcerting not to be able to provide a way to calm Timmy’s nerves like he’s gotten so used to doing over the past months.

“I don’t know, man. I knew something was off when I woke up but I couldn’t figure out what until I got downstairs and had the worst case of déjà vu I’ve ever experienced. I have no idea what happened, though.”

He can tell that’s not exactly what Timmy wanted to hear, but he manages to keep himself from hyperventilating, at least. Timmy sits down heavily on the bed, and Armie joins him a second later. They sit quietly for several long minutes, both trying to figure out what might have caused this to happen.

When the idea dawns on Armie, he instantly recognizes the rather dire consequences of the situation they are in, which he had been ardently avoiding up until now.

“I think I know what happened.”

Timmy’s head whips around to look at him, eyes wide with both anticipation and fear. Armie doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want it to be real, doesn’t want the easy way they’ve been together to be shattered once Timmy hears the explanation he’s come up with. But he knows if they ever have a chance in hell of returning to their normal lives, he has to.

“I think we fucked with the timeline of the story too much, and we have to repeat it to do it over again, the right way.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. We haven’t been following the script for a while now.”

Armie sighs, the tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe.

“Yeah but, we only made small changes, nothing major. Until last night. You didn’t go with Marzia to the lake, and that would effect the entire rest of the story.”

He watches in morbid fascination as his words sink in, sees Timmy realize the implications of what it means for the rest of the story, and he tries not to flinch when he sees terror seep into Timmy’s eyes.

“If…if that’s true, then…”

“Yeah, I know.”

Armie tries to keep his voice calm, but inside he feels as terrified as Timmy looks. Logically, he knew this would be a possibility, but when they’d successfully started changing little things here and there, he’d had hope that maybe they could find a way around the more intimate scenes and still find a way out of this. But apparently whatever god or devil or other entity put them here wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

His mind drifts back to last night, and though he still wants to clarify what Timmy meant, he knows now is not the time to ask. But somehow it seems even more relevant to where they are headed than he could have ever anticipated.

Timmy requests to have some time alone to think, and since the “scripted” part of the day isn’t until the evening, Armie doesn’t argue. As much as he wants to keep an eye on Timmy given this new information, he respects that he needs some time to sort through his feelings about it.

On the way to the club later that night, Timmy is quiet, keeping a bit more distance between them than they’ve been used to the last week. Armie tries not to let it bother him, knowing it isn’t personal. He’s been trying to keep his own internal freakout under control as well, so he knows how hard it must be for Timmy.

Stepping onto the dance floor for this second go-round, he can’t help but note how different the feeling is from just 24 hours ago. While he allowed himself to let go and get lost in the moment the first time, now he is hyper aware of everything, worried that one misstep might trip some invisible wire and they will be doomed to repeat this day a third time.

When he sees Chiara approaching, he steels himself, knowing that he has to switch into “acting” mode more fully this time. He smiles widely and accepts the invitation to dance, trying not to think about his wife and two kids back in his real life as he leans in to kiss her a minute later.

But those thoughts are soon replaced as he feels a distinct prickle at the back of his neck. He knows what it is without having to look, but he can’t stop himself. He maneuvers Chiara around so that he can face the side of the dance floor where Timmy is sitting with the other teens, and sure enough, he finds Timmy’s eyes staring directly back at his through the sea of people between them.

But what surprises him is that Timmy doesn’t look away when he’s caught like Armie expected him to. Instead, he hold his gaze steady, eyes piercing into Armie’s with intensity, almost like a challenge. Armie doesn’t know the terms but he’s not about to back down either way.

They continue to lock eyes until the end of the song, and even when the familiar strains of Love My Way start up, neither of them look away from the other. When Marzia passes by Timmy to invite him to join them for the dance, Timmy’s eyes remain fixed on his, and it’s in that moment that he finally has the answer to the question he never got to ask the night before.

The feeling that he couldn’t explain, the one that has come and go in the past but seems to be a building presence in his life over the last couple of weeks, finally has a name, one that is now undeniable to him no matter how much he’d like to pretend otherwise. It’s pure, unadulterated attraction. And it isn’t just coming from Timmy.

It occurs to him that he should be more shocked by that revelation than he is, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes complete sense. He hadn’t been ready to acknowledge it before, but with everything they’ve been through lately, he knows there’s no more running from this thing that’s been slowly building between them. It’s been there since the beginning, but he always had an excuse to ignore it before. Now all of that is gone and there’s just the two of them, playing out the most beautiful love story he’s ever seen.

The intensity of the moment is broken when someone bumps into him, and he realizes he’s been standing still in the middle of the sea of dancing people for a while now. He reluctantly begins to move his body to the music, his limbs feeling like they weigh a hundred pounds each.

When Timmy finally jumps on the dance floor, he maintains more distance this time, but Armie is still acutely aware of where his body it at all times. It’s like now that he’s acknowledged his attraction to Timmy, he can somehow still feel him even when he’s several feet away. It’s unnerving and exciting all at once. And now he definitely needs to talk to Timmy about it.

But when he tries to find a minute to talk to Timmy privately, he’s interrupted by Marzia coming over to them, and the sting of knowing he can’t stop what happens next is something he’s wholly unprepared for. He watches as Timmy nods to her suggestion, locking eyes with him briefly before Timmy tears himself away and follows Marzia off the dance floor and away from the club.

Armie gives himself five more minutes before excusing himself and heading back to the villa, alone. As much as he tries, he can’t make his mind focus on anything but Timmy. He remembers how close they had been last night, how he could feel his breath on his face, how Timmy had obviously been trying to communicate his feelings but for some reason felt he couldn’t. And now they are in a giant fucking mess with no good way out.

He lies awake for hours, waiting up to hear Timmy come back from his excursion from the lake. But the villa remains eerily quiet. At some point he falls into an uneasy sleep, plagued with strange dreams and unable to find a comfortable position.

When he wakes the next morning, he somehow knows that they have broken the cycle and are in the next day. He wants to be happy about it, to feel relief that they can move on and not repeat the same day a third time. But all he can focus on is the weird twinge of jealousy that shoots through him as he realizes what must have happened for them to get to this new day, and the icy grip of fear that comes with knowing he was right about his theory, and everything that comes along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I know this new idea of them having to play things out the way they were meant to or they can't move on in time can be a bit tricky, especially regarding the issue of consent in sexual situations. But I *do* have a plan that hopefully will be acceptable to everyone in that regard. There's no planned non-con for this story, just to clarify. And for anyone who's a Supernatural fan, I came up with this concept by merging ideas from two different episodes of that show. It's a hybrid of "Mystery Spot" and "Changing Channels". Just in case anyone finds that interesting, lol.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does not want to return to 1983. He wants to stay in 2017, with Elio, and make their life here. He wants to be a father and be with the man he loves. He does not want to have to choose. He knows people will be hurt as a result of his actions but for once, for once in his damn life, he wants to care about himself first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief mention of government reaction to and development of treatment for HIV/AIDS in this chapter. It was difficult to write a bit about the history of HIV/AIDS at this time. It is just at the beginning and without much detail and ends on a hopeful note. I feel like I would be remiss not to mention it given our current circumstances.

Oliver does not so much wake up the next day as the night is an awakening. He has learned decades worth of history and he feels born anew, like his life has been given back to him. Perhaps it was never his to begin with - he had long given it away to others, trusting their opinions and guidance more than his heart, his intuition. He had given it to his parents, his mentors, his girlfriend and the past summer had begun a tug-of-war in which he had begun to wrest it away from others and back into his own hands, but a war he was fearful of winning. A war he was willing to concede defeat without even a proper battle outside the idyllic glory that was a villa someplace in Northern Italy. 

He has read about the development of effective treatment for HIV/AIDS, so effective that those who can tolerate the medications often achieve a detectable viral load of zero. He learned about prophylactic treatment that paired together with effective medications could eliminate the virus with the next generation. He learned what the queer community did, in the face of government apathy, at best, and outright hostility, at worst, to have these treatments developed and made accessible. He came to understand that the movements responsible for pushing pharmacetical companies and the government for such treatments often neglected those who were most vulnerable - their transgender siblings, often those trans siblings of color - and, in archiving, history often erased the great contributions of these activists to the cause. 

It is a terrible history, with nearly a generation, _his generation,_ lost to this virus but he feels invigorated. Each of his cells singing a chorus of hallelujah that they have never sung before, and certainly not in the past two years when the death tolls began to mount.

He has read about the fight for equality before the law, about the overturning of sodomy laws and about states legalizing civil commitments, domestic partnerships, and eventually marriage, while other states wrote into law discrimination defining marriage between one man and one woman, until the matter was taken all the way to the Supreme Court. He learned that while marriage equality may now be the law of the land, there are still many states where discrimination in housing and employment remains legal, and that rates of mental health problems, homelessness, and addiction remain disproportionately high. 

There has been progress, but they have not achieved perfection. But, Oliver’s knowledge of history prods him, this has been the case for any people of a minority identity. Just as he would not hide away his Jewish identity, wears his Magen David with pride, he recognizes queer people have fought for the same pride and acceptance, increasingly from the culture at large, but most especially from themselves. 

As his mind connects the dots of different points of history, his history, their history, he exchanges glances with Elio. Their eyes are both alight with the glow from their cell phones and with a giddiness of this world they have found themselves in. 

The film suddenly exists in a context. Oliver feels the parts all slotting into place. 

Nights once filled with comforting Elio and making love to him are filled with learning the history of their future and love-making. They exist in hotel rooms but it gives Oliver a domestic feeling, lying together, reading silently, reading aloud, grabbing each other with excitement and joy which rapidly evolves into another type of touch, slow, sensual, languid, with a growing sense that they have all the time that history has afforded them. 

Someone, an assistant to someone, Oliver struggles to keep all the roles and everyone’s names straight as they change from city to city, remarked on him looking fatigued. He admits, “I was up all night reading.”

“What were you reading?” Oliver cannot tell if she is genuinely curious or trying to be polite but the effect that this has had on him has given him a more optimistic disposition, especially regarding others and their intentions, than ever before. So his admission continues, “Wikipedia.”

He expects the type of reaction he might have received if he had been forced to admit to his grade school classmates that he had stayed up past his bedtime reading Encyclopedia Britannica. Instead she nods in recognition, “Oh, you fell down a wiki-hole.”

His forehead crinkles and his eyebrows lift. Elio walks by in the tight black jeans that are the style of this time and a leather jacket and that’s all it takes for him to be distracted, although he saw him in far less just hours before. “Hmm?”

“A wiki-hole, you know where you click from one article to another and suddenly hours have passed even though you’ve stopped being aware of time.” She giggles, “Like a k-hole, you know, from ketamine.” 

Oliver lets a smile break out on his face and chortles, “Like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole.”

The assistant glances at him, “Uh yeah, sure.” But Oliver doesn’t notice, he’s too busy using his long legs to catch up with Elio. 

At yet another press event, another interview, Oliver as Armie feels able to answer truthfully. “This was departure from anything I’ve done before because I’ve never really been pushed or challenged this much. This was a conscious decision to challenge myself as an artist…” 

His decision to travel to Italy this summer was in fact a decision to push himself. It was an honor to be selected as Professor Perlman’s research assistant, but not a necessary one. He was well-liked by his advisor and other mentors and he had published more journal articles than others in his cohort. A life-long over-achiever, because each achievement served like a brick in a fortress wall to protect him from the inevitable criticism he would receive should he truly allow others inside, he did not need another accolade, this one fairly obscure at that. 

He speaks from the heart when he says, “This was an amazing opportunity to learn about myself and to challenge myself and to challenge my perspective and to see what else is out there. And I can say this is definitely one of the best things I’ve ever done in my professional life and also it profoundly changed my personal life.”

What would his life been like, who would he have been, if not for this summer, if not for Elio? And, in a corner of himself that is just beginning to break free, where would he be had he not had this opportunity, such as it is, to fast forward time, to stand on the shoulders of his queer siblings, all far braver than him. 

He considers Pro’s wisdom at the end of the film and for the first time feels as though it is directed toward him, not only Elio. He feels as though Pro took him in as a son, not just a student, this summer. As audiences everywhere have resonated with that speech and have wished it had been words their own fathers had shared with them, Oliver for once, allows himself to join the crowd, allows himself to wish for a different father, one more like Pro. And he realizes, in a rare moment of gratitude, he is closer to having that wish than anyone else touched by the film. He may already have the unconditional acceptance of a parent’s love. 

“I think Michael’s speech changed the kind of father I’m going to be. Luca changed what I’m now looking for in a film in terms of artistic satiation. Timothee is one of the best scene partners I’ve ever had and it was just an amazing opportunity more than anything else.” 

He sees Elio duck his head, shaking it a bit, out of disbelief. He wants Elio to know how true these words are, how much deeper the meaning goes than Oliver acting the part of an actor. He’s carrying around a feeling today that he never thought he would feel again, one that he felt at the war memorial and at the berm and when he gave Elio his name and when Elio sought him out at his translator’s the next day and during their time in Bergamo. He never thought he would feel this weightless, almost free.

They are in Los Angeles and as this is where Armie lives, Oliver is expected to be at home with Armie’s wife this evening. She meets them at the end of the day and gives Elio a big hug, inviting him to dinner.

Elio quickly glances at Oliver, “I don’t want to intrude.”

Oliver can feel his cheeks heat but he flashes Elio a smile. How can Elio not know how much more at ease Oliver will feel with him there? How much more at ease Oliver feels with him anywhere they may be, this being the strangest situation he could have never possibly imagined. He grabs Elio around the shoulders, pulling him into his side, “Yes, come over, please.” 

Liz grabs Oliver’s free hand and smiles at Elio, “Yes, come on. You’re family at this point.”

And so they find themselves sitting around the Hammer dining room table, after a steak dinner that Oliver helped prepare. Liz has gone to check on the children and go to bed herself. Oliver and Elio are finishing the last of a bottle of wine that Liz and Armie had brought back from Italy and Oliver can tell Elio is pleased with the taste of home. 

Dinner had been cooked in the midst of the chaos of getting the children fed and to bed, while the eldest, Harper, refused to behave for anyone but her Uncle Timmy, and Ford had wanted to be held by his father as much as possible. Oliver relished it. His desire and attraction for men had not excluded a deep longing to be a father. He had always thought that his wish to be a father was strange, given that he had no good role model for being a parent. He had always enjoyed children, imagined what books he would read them and the trips to parks and museums he would plan for them. He had wondered if this was the one bit of heteronormativity he had internalized correctly from the culture. His wish that Elio would find a woman to love also included a wish for Elio to be a father, as he actually had a fitting role model, soon to be known to the world as a role model for all fathers current and future.

But now Oliver knows that the capacity for same-sex couples to adopt, at least in certain states, is just a matter waiting for history to unfold, joining the fight. Or. 

Oliver has been nursing this thought all day. He gets up and walks to the Hammers’ bar to mix a martini. Sips it and enjoys the slight burn of the liquor in his throat, burning like desire wanting to be put into words. 

But he can’t, not yet. He needs to think more about it. His excitement about the world they now find themselves in is not exactly mirrored by Elio. They were both taken with the history they read. Elio moved by the people who fought at the front lines for the rights that people like them now enjoy. He looked up online biographies for everyone from Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera to Larry Kramer and Paul Monette. He read and shed tears alongside Oliver, filling an ocean with their gratitude, the love stories of Edie Windsor and Thea Spyer and Jim Obergefell and John Arthur. But he still misses his family. He sees this history as a natural unraveling of time from where he existed. He is not surprised by it any more than he has been surprised by the history he has already learned. It reflects his beloved life so far and an unshakeable belief that good will ultimately triumph. He has heard Oliver’s story but it, especially now, is a relic of the past. A past he may not experience much of if he steers his life correctly. 

They sit on the couch and discuss the nature of gender and love, argue about the best translation of Plato. They both turn to their phones to look it up, having readily and quickly adapted to this time and place at least as far as the ease with which information is available to them. Elio finds a video of a song about Plato’s story sung by someone who is perhaps a drag queen, although they have both learned there are far more genders on this earth than either of them knew just days ago. They rewatch the video, Elio’s fingers restless, already beginning to pick out the notes on his thighs. Once the song has finished, Elio closes his eyes, leaving Oliver to his thoughts. 

Having woken up in this world, in this time, Oliver desperately wants to stay here. He knows that he and Elio have not managed to keep their adoration for each other (and Oliver is slowly beginning to truly believe that what Elio feels is true and real and not some passing teenage fancy, and he is slowly, even more slowly, beginning to feel worthy of it) hidden. As much as Oliver has managed to keep successfully hidden his feelings for men for all his twenty-four years - although he now wonders if he was as successful as he thought or if everyone played along in this grand gesture of denial because it eased everyone’s way, not only Oliver’s - he cannot do so for Elio. Elio, the god of sun, brings a light to Oliver’s face that is evident to all who see him. Kindness and awe in his voice that is evident to all who hear him. And warmth to those who stand close enough to feel the warmth of the reflection of the reflection, the heat is that hot. Their management encourages the clear and easy love between them during this press tour, and has mentioned, on more than one occasion it is “good for the film.” A love story to sell a love story. 

Oliver wants to stay in 2017. He wants to stay here with Elio, even though he feels certain a piece of Elio’s heart will break at the idea of never seeing his parents again. Oliver does not know by what means they have been transported here and therefore does not know how the two of them can return. In the meantime, they have these lives - Armie Hammer and Timothee Chalamet - they could lead. For Oliver there is the potential of a fresh new beginning. He feels no allegiance, no sense of duty to Armie’s parents the way he does his own. Nor does he feel a loyalty to Armie’s wife the way he might if he married his girlfriend. 

This new world lies before him, welcoming him to take a step. Step into a life he never thought possible. 

Oliver thinks about how Heraclitus is quoted as saying, “Day by day, what you choose, what you think, and what you do is who you become.”

Having published a book on the philosopher, Oliver is familiar with the quote and has, many times over, thought of it in relation to how he lives his life. The desperate wish to become what he does driving his decisions. He has long given up on trying to control his thoughts, realizing that the more he tries to suppress the cognitive manifestation of that part of him - until now the part of him that disgusted him - it paradoxically multiplies, like rodents breeding. 

The same quote, flipped on its head - or maybe Oliver is the one who has been flipped on his head - changes everything. The idea that Oliver can pursue within himself an ideal that is not supported by the majority of the culture he belongs to, to fight alongside others who see the world both as it is and as it should be, that he can embody that courage simply by believing it to be possible, is a whole new world for him.

He does not want to return to 1983. He wants to stay in 2017, with Elio, and make their life here. He wants to be a father and be with the man he loves. He does not want to have to choose. He knows people will be hurt as a result of his actions but for once, for once in his damn life, he wants to care about himself first. Because if he were to return to 1983 and follow through with his intentions to marry his girlfriend, he will be hurt. By his own hand, he will stab and twist the blade, and he will live but a hurt half life. And, like a revelation, he wonders why his hurt should matter less than anyone else’s?

Behind him, Liz pads into the kitchen to get a glass of water and notices Oliver sitting, finishing his drink, with Elio asleep on his shoulder. She lays a gentle hand on his arm and whispers, “He’s so sweet, isn’t he?” Oliver nods in response, thinking she has no idea the depth and very texture of his sweetness, but pleased nonetheless that others can see it too. “Why don’t you carry him up to the guest room? Let him sleep here rather than wake him up to go back to that hotel. We can make pancakes in the morning - I think everyone would like that.” 

Oliver lifts Elio into his arms, bridal style, and looks down at his face peaceful and still in sleep, curls falling everywhere. He glances up and sees Liz looking at them, a tender expression on her face. Maybe there won’t be as many hurt feelings as he anticipated? Maybe in this incredible future, it is not unheard of, uncommon, for a husband to tell his wife, “I’ve found this piece of myself that I didn’t know existed. I thought the puzzle was complete until I realized there was this missing piece and now that I’ve placed it where it belongs, the whole picture has changed. I have found my home, I have found my family. I thought it was with you, but I realize now what it is to be in love.” Maybe there are fewer hurt feelings because with greater acceptance has come a better understanding of sexual identity and that the journey one takes to know oneself sometimes involves others, innocent bystanders, and no one is to blame. 

He carries Elio up the stairs and lays him down on the guest bed, pulling a blanket over him. He recalls watching Elio sleep their last night in Bergamo, their last night in their world, in their time. He recalls the feeling of mourning, in anticipation of grief and loss. His feelings tonight could not be more different. He feels light, hopeful, and bursting with love for this young man, for the world they have found themselves in.

He only hopes Elio agrees with his plan. He bends over and presses kisses into his curls, and whispers, “Please, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback so far! 
> 
> I hope everyone is staying as safe and well as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between the boys heat up as feelings are revealed during the kiss at the berm, and Armie opens up about the state of his marriage while rubbing Timmy's feet post-nosebleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you all had a good week and aren't going too stir-crazy during this difficult time of lockdown. I'm really excited about this chapter and the next one (I will give you one guess what it will cover ;) ). Things are finally starting to progress in a real way and I hope you enjoy where they end up leading. :D
> 
> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos. It's so motivating to know you all are enjoying reading this story as much as we are while writing it! Take care and stay safe! Love you all! <333

Timmy expects things to get awkward and strained between him and Armie after discovering the rather nasty complication of not being able to alter any major plot points of the story or else they will be stuck in a loop repeating the same day until they act it out correctly. So when Armie doesn’t pull away but instead leans even more into their growing intimacy, both in the written story and outside of it, he grows a bit suspicious.

But despite not understanding the reason behind it, he can’t help but enjoy the way Armie’s hand lingers on his knee a little longer than normal, or the way his voice has suddenly become softer around the edges, more tender and comforting, in a way Timmy never realized he craved until he starts hearing it happening more often as the days go on.

Part of him desperately wants to ask Armie about it, try to explain the shift he’s felt ever since the night at Le Danzing, but the other part of him is terrified that if he brings it up, it’ll stop, and that’s the last thing he wants. As difficult as he knows this will all be to give up once they finally get back to their real lives and Armie goes back to his wife and kids, he’s decided to allow himself the small joy of relishing this time with Armie while he has it. He knows it will never be this way between them again, and if he can’t have the real thing, at least he can have these memories.

As he listens to Annella read him the story of the knight and the princess, his chest tightens painfully. When he’d filmed this scene the first time, he’d already started developing feelings for Armie, but he knew there would be no point in saying anything about it to him. But lately, with the way Armie has been acting, he wonders…no, he has to be reading into things, letting his wishful thinking take over as things progress and they edge nearer to the midnight scene. But then there are times when Armie will look at him with this certain expression on his face that sets his insides on fire, and the hope that he keeps desperately trying to push down springs back to life again.

The day they ride into town together and stand at the Piave memorial, he wrestles with himself over whether or not to address what he feels like has been happening between them. Armie plays the scene as it was written, or at least he tries to. But when Armie asks, “What things that matter?” the spring that’s been winding tighter and tighter inside Timmy for the past week finally snaps and he can’t just keep reciting lines like it’s all pretend, like there isn’t something very real going on. He needs a real answer, not from Oliver but from _Armie_.

Instead of responding with Elio’s vague “you know what things” line, he decides on a more direct approach. Pushing off from the metal rail that circles the memorial, he rounds it quickly, backtracking the way he came for a shorter distance. He finds Armie on the other side, watching him carefully with wide eyes.

Stepping into Armie’s space, he looks up directly into his eyes with all the determination he can muster. “What are we doing, Armie? What is going o—”

He’s cut off by a firm hand clamping down over his mouth, Armie’s eyes tearing from his to look frantically in all directions to make sure no one is watching them.

Once he determines no one is paying too close attention, Armie leans down and presses his mouth close to Timmy’s ear, murmuring softly. “Don’t. We can’t do this here.” There’s a brief pause, and Timmy wants to argue that he doesn’t even care anymore, but he doesn’t have a chance before Armie continues. “I’m going to go collect the papers from the translator. We’ll talk about this later, ok?”

He knows Armie is right, they need to maintain their cover in public, and despite his burning desire to get some answers, it can wait until they are alone. Giving a small nod, he takes a step back from Armie and drops his gaze to the ground, trying to regain a bit of composure. He can feel Armie’s eyes on him for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’s going to try anything else, before Armie finally gives a quiet, “I’ll be right back,” and starts in the direction of the building.

He takes one more puff of the cigarette he’s still holding in his hand before tossing it, not really in the mood to finish it now. Armie emerges a minute later, papers already folded in one hand at his side, clearly not planning to keep up the pretense of the original scene. Neither of them speak, but he can read in Armie’s eyes that he isn’t angry, just concerned, and maybe even a little nervous. In some weird way, it makes Timmy feel a little better, knowing that this clearly isn’t all in his head. Armie isn’t just playing along for the sake of it, but he still isn’t sure what that means for them going forward.

The ride to the berm is quiet, Timmy trying to figure out the best way to approach this that won’t send Armie retreating into a void of guilt and fear. He’s happy to note that Armie doesn’t seem particularly tense, riding at a steady pace a couple yards ahead of him. He wonders what Armie is thinking, if he’s going to say something first or wait for Timmy to bring it back up.

As they lay quietly in the grass near the small pond, both deciding to skip the freezing cold water portion of the scene and go right to laying in the warm sun, Timmy’s mind works overtime as he waits for what is coming next. He isn’t nervous about kissing Armie, which is something that has felt natural to him since their first rehearsal in Luca’s backyard right at the beginning of everything. But he can’t help but wonder what, if anything, will be different this time. His mind runs through a million questions he wants to ask, but none of them seem to be exactly right, so he doesn’t voice any of them.

Instead, he remains silent with his eyes closed against the bright summer sun until Armie finally shifts, taking it upon himself to move the scene forward. When he detects Armie’s shadow falling across his face, his eyes slide open to find deep pools of blue hovering over him, the feel of Armie’s fingertip tracing over his lips sending a shiver down his spine. When he leans up to meet him, he feels like everything moves in slow motion. Armie’s breath is hot on his face, and when their lips finally meet, it feels like coming home, familiar and safe and filled with the kind of warmth that breathes new life into your soul after having been deprived of it for too long.

As the seconds tick by, their mouths dancing softly against each other, Timmy expects Armie to pull back as Oliver does. But instead, he feels Armie’s tongue swipe along his bottom lip, gently probing, and all of Timmy’s self-control evaporates as he eagerly opens up for him and drinks in every bit of Armie that he is being allowed in this moment.

He loses track of time, unsure if the kiss lasts for seconds or minutes or years, until Armie finally, hesitantly, pulls back, both of them breathing heavily and Timmy’s heart thundering in his chest. He’s too stunned to speak, trying to recover his breath as his mind is pulled in a thousand different directions.

“Better now?”

Armie’s perfectly deadpan voice cuts through his thoughts and the absurdity of the moment hits him right in the chest. A bark of laughter punches out from his throat, then another, and before he can stop himself, he’s devolving into a fit of giggles, falling back onto the grass and grabbing at his belly as his muscles clench and shift underneath his skin.

The soft rumble of Armie’s chuckle somehow reaches him through his own hysterical laughter and a pool of warmth spreads from his chest throughout his body. Slowly, he begins to settle, the warmth transforming into full on heat when he looks over at Armie and sees his piercing eyes watching him with a mixture of amusement and…something else. He’s almost too afraid to hope that what he sees is desire, arousal. But as their eyes stay locked in a steady gaze, he thinks he knows how he can find out.

Remembering how the rest of the scene goes, he quickly sits back up and scoots closer to Armie, who stays perfectly still, allowing the heat of their bodies to collide and swirl around them. With a deep breath and a silent prayer that Armie won’t push him away, he reaches his hand sideways in a quick motion.

His question is more than answered when his hand lands directly on Armie’s crotch and he feels that it’s rock hard underneath Armie’s shorts. It’s all he can do for several seconds to continue staring at his hand grabbing Armie’s cock before he finds the courage to slide his eyes up to meet Armie’s. When he finds Armie’s very calm gaze staring back at him, he swallows thickly.

Then when Armie’s hand drops to cover his own, and instead of peeling it away like he expects, he presses it even harder against him, Timmy’s brain completely short circuits and he’s left totally at Armie’s mercy. He briefly wonders if Armie is going to take things further, move his hand inside his shorts or make some other kind of definitive move, but then there’s some kind of high pitched noise and Armie’s lips twitch up in a tiny smirk. It’s only after Armie finally does move both of their hands away from his dick that he realizes the noise had been coming from him, and it had ruined the moment.

He mentally curses himself as Armie gives him a fond smile and stands, trying not to imagine all the other possible scenarios that could have played out if he’d been able to control himself.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, he almost doesn’t notice when Armie extends a hand down to help him up, until Armie’s low voice snaps him out of it.

“You ready to head back?”

Timmy blinks up at him and searches his face, wondering if things would truly get awkward between them now. But once Armie pulls him up to his feet, he continues to hold onto Timmy’s hand for a few seconds longer than necessary, his thumb stroking the inside of Timmy’s wrist in the most tender motion. It makes Timmy’s skin tingle and his entire body hum with electricity.

And when Armie finally releases him, there’s a look in his eyes that tells Timmy everything he could ever want to know about how he feels, and suddenly he doesn’t need to talk about it or ask questions. It’s all written plainly in the soft corners of his eyes, the way his lips part slightly on a shy smile, the way the air between them crackles with heat one second and then settles around them like the softest, warmest blanket, protected and safe.

He’s floating on air the whole ride back to the villa, not even noticing the burn in his legs from pedaling so hard to keep up with Armie. His face hurts from smiling the entire way, but when Armie notices it as they’re putting the bikes away and playfully knocks shoulders with him with a giddy grin of his own, it’s completely worth it.

All he wants to do is drag Armie up to the bedroom and continue what they started at the berm, but when they round the corner of the backyard and see the table full of people, a bucket of ice water crashes over him as he remembers they still have a full day of scenes to act through. He looks over at Armie and can tell he had the same sobering thought, but Armie just shrugs and Timmy watches as his whole aura changes as he slips into “Oliver mode”.

Lunch feels like an eternity sitting there listening to the Italian couple argue about politics and cinema, but Timmy is not even paying attention. His mind is far too preoccupied with trying to figure out when things changed for Armie, because he’s pretty sure Armie hasn’t been secretly harboring feelings for him like he’d been doing this whole time. He runs back through everything that’s happened since they got dropped into this crazy situation and tries to pinpoint the moment Armie’s feelings became more than platonic, but the lines between them have always been so blurred, it’s almost impossible to know when the shift happened. All he knows for sure is that it _did_ happen, and now they have to decide how to best proceed with the knowledge they are mutually attracted to each other.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts, the feeling of Armie’s foot sliding gently on top of his startles him so much, he almost knocks his glass of wine over. Luckily, it’s almost empty so nothing spills out, but it does bring about a couple of concerned glances from Annella and Samuel, though the Italian couple never stop arguing to even notice.

When the attention is pulled away from him again, he risks a tiny flick of his eyes over to Armie, who’s trying not to smirk but not entirely succeeding. He’s about to narrow his eyes into a glare when Armie’s foot presses down harder onto his, his nimble toes dragging along the top of his foot and making him forget why he was supposed to be annoyed.

He also manages to forget the other important detail of the scene they are in, so when he feels the warm trickle of liquid coming from his nose and pooling on his upper lip, it’s just as startling as Armie’s foot had been. He barely manages to grab the napkin and shove it to his face before practically knocking the chair backwards as he stands and runs into the house, trying not to freak out that he’s apparently not even in control of his own body in this world.

He completely bypasses the kitchen altogether and heads straight to the small drink nook where he knows he’ll find the ice he needs. Once he’s got the ice gathered inside the napkin, he sits down on the floor and waits. When Armie appears in the doorway a minute later, a genuinely worried look on his face that he can tell is all him and not Oliver, his belly does a little flipflop.

“Dude, I didn’t think you’d get an actual nosebleed. I thought you’d fake it or something. Are you ok?”

Keeping his head angled back a bit, he nods, signaling for Armie to sit, which he does without hesitation. “Yeah, me either. I’d honestly forgotten about that part until it happened.”

Apparently Armie finds that humorous because he lets out a huff of breathy laughter. “You forgot about the nosebleed? Kind of an important part of the scene there, dontcha think?”

This time he does shoot a glare at Armie. “Yeah, well, I was a little _distracted_ by other things going on at the time.” He looks pointedly at Armie’s foot that is just inches from his own as they sit cramped together in the tiny space.

Armie’s expression immediately sobers and his eyes sweep down to join Timmy’s to look at their feet. “Ah yeah, right, that.” His voice is suddenly so tender, it catches Timmy off guard and he’s not prepared for the moment when Armie’s hand slides down his leg and lifts his foot into his lap.

A tingle of excitement runs down his spine, but he wants whatever happens between them to be natural, not just following a script. “You really don’t have to do that, you know. It’s just us in here.”

Armie’s head turns to lock eyes with his, and there’s something there he can’t quite pinpoint, but he’s still transfixed by it. “I don’t mind. I actually find it kind of soothing. I used to do it for Li—”

Armie cuts himself off, and the excited feeling in Timmy’s stomach turns sour when he realizes what Armie had been about to say. They may be sitting crammed into a small space, but there is somehow still a giant elephant in the middle of the room, and it’s standing directly between them.

“Right, of course you did. She’s your wife, and you’re a good husband.”

He tries to pull his foot back, wants to get as far away from that too-small space and Armie’s touch as he can. But Armie’s grip is too strong, and he holds Timmy’s foot firmly in his lap until Timmy finally gives up and stops squirming.

When Armie is satisfied that Timmy is done trying to run away, he resumes massaging and stretching his foot, but Timmy can’t bring himself to look up at him.

“What I was going to say is that I did this for her when she was pregnant with Harper, when things between us were still good. But,” he pauses, rubbing at a particularly tense spot on Timmy’s foot with extra pressure for a minute before continuing. “It hasn’t been like that for a long time now.”

Armie’s words take a minute to sink in, but when they do, Timmy slowly lifts his head and waits until Armie meets his eyes. “Really? You guys seem so happy.”

Armie gives a wry smile as he cracks Timmy’s big toe. Timmy hisses but tries not to jerk away. “Yeah well, we’ve gotten really good at faking it. Especially to ourselves.”

Timmy is surprised by Armie’s candor since he had no idea they were even having problems. But then when he thinks about it, they hardly ever explicitly talk about Armie’s relationship with Liz, only about the kids or trying to balance acting with family obligations. He’d never pushed for details of their marriage since his own feelings for Armie complicated things and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Still, hearing Armie talk this way now comes as a shock considering that all the times he’d spent time with them together, they’d seemed totally in love.

He isn’t sure what to say, so he settles for a simple, “I’m really sorry, Armie.” It sounds lame even to his own ears, but he’s not sure anything else would be appropriate right now.

But Armie just gives a half-shrug, moving to tuck the foot he’d been working on beneath his meaty thigh and grab the other, placing it gently in his lap. Timmy tries to ignore the fact that he can feel the heat of Armie’s crotch on the bottom of his heel and instead focuses on the way Armie’s talented fingers know exactly where to press to release the built up tension in his foot.

“It happens so gradually, you don’t even notice it until one day you look up, and the person sitting across from you isn’t the same one you married. And neither are you. And somehow…the people you both are now just don’t fit together the same way. And it isn’t necessarily bad, just different. We don’t hate each other and we don’t fight. We just…” He stops, and Timmy holds his breath, both as he waits for Armie to continue and as he tries to fight through the feeling of Armie bending his toes so far forward, he thinks they might snap right off.

When they finally crack, the air rushes out of his lungs and he grips onto Armie’s bicep. “We still love each other, we always will. We just aren’t _in love_ anymore.”

Timmy barely has time to suck in another breath before he feels his lungs squeeze with Armie’s words. It’s the closest thing he’s felt to real hope for them beyond whatever happens in this fictional world where they have to play out the love story between their characters. But he knows it isn’t that simple, and life and love and marriage is complicated.

Armie finishes working on Timmy’s foot, but instead of dropping it back to his lap or moving it off, he simply holds it between his huge hands for several seconds. Timmy lifts his eyes to look at Armie’s face, and just as Armie meets his gaze, he very slowly and deliberately raises Timmy’s foot to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the top of it. It mirrors the moment from the movie perfectly, except there’s one very important detail that leaps out at him now.

He swallows, trying to subtly clear his throat so his voice doesn’t come out in a high-pitched squeak. “That wasn’t actually in the script.”

Armie’s eyes never leave his as he runs one warm hand up the length of Timmy’s leg, kneading into the thick part of his thigh for a second. “I know.”

Timmy suddenly can’t breathe, like all the air in that tiny room got sucked out with Armie’s confession. He’s just about to lean in and give them both a reason to be breathless when he hears voices coming closer, and he can see shadows dancing across the walls on the other side of the living room, signaling that lunch is over and people are making their way back inside.

He lets out a heavy sigh and leans back against the wall, tries not to be too disappointed when Armie finally moves his leg off of him and moves to stand up. “Come on, we should get out of here.”

Not trusting his voice right now, he opts for a nod and takes Armie’s proffered hand to pull him to his feet. They move into the living room, but Timmy hesitates, not wanting the moment to end. “Hey, you wanna go upstairs and…talk?” Talking is the absolute last thing he wants to do, but he knows they probably should figure some things out before anything else happens.

He can see the fight play out on Armie’s face, clearly wanting to say yes, but also knowing he can’t. “I don’t think I should. I’m supposed to be heading out for the night, and you have…other plans.”

Timmy makes note of the tiny hint of jealousy he hears at Armie not mentioning Marzia by name, but he can’t fully enjoy the feeling because he’d much rather blow all that off and stay with Armie. But he knows if they do that, they’ll just wind up repeating the day again. And while that wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, he knows they should just stick to the main story and not deviate too much, just in case there’s another crazy twist they aren’t aware of yet.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He can’t keep the disappointment out of his voice, but then again, he can see the same emotion etched in Armie’s expression, so at least he takes comfort in the fact that he’s not alone.

Armie gives him his best reassuring smile before heading out to grab his bike, and Timmy sighs and drapes himself on the couch to wait for Marzia and Chiara. The fact that he knows Armie won’t be back for hours makes him itchy. As he watches a cloud of smoke billow up from his lips a while later and hears gentle footfalls coming into the room, he knows this is going to be the longest night ever.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re traveling to Rome when the Oscar nominations are announced. Even though he knows Elio was not the one giving the performance, he can’t help but feel proud of him. Similarly, he feels proud that their story, this movie, was nominated. For him, for now, it is confirmation that the culture welcomes them.

Despite Oliver’s newfound hopes to remain in the present time, he keeps it to himself. He wants to tell Elio, he does. But keeping hopes and dreams to himself is a difficult habit to break. He reflects back to his own story of the knight and sees himself slowly slaying the monsters that keep him imprisoned, alone in his mind. 

He uses the mask of Armie Hammer as a stepping stone. It is easier to be authentic, to be himself, when he has the protection of someone else to shield him. They aren’t judging _me,_ he thinks, they’re judging Armie. A faucet has been turned on. Perhaps it is not yet flowing freely but the drip drip drip has increased to a delicate but steady stream as he slowly builds his confidence. 

And then, behind closed doors, alone with Elio, he keeps that faucet open. He finds them having long conversations. Discussion was absent from this past summer, but they focused mostly on academic or philosophical topics, it was safer that way. 

But after opening up to Elio about his past, his childhood, why he would have chosen to marry a woman, it seems natural to continue. They carefully, together, side-step the present moment or the future. Sensing, perhaps, that if either look too closely at their current predicament it would be too upsetting. As it is, Elio still misses home and his family terribly. Perhaps that is why Oliver chooses to not speak about his hopes for the two of them. Perhaps he is fearful he would not survive Elio’s rejection. Even if that was only his initial reaction, even if he later came around, warmed up to it, Oliver would always be able to replay the initial horror he expressed. Like a disturbing scene in a movie that cannot be erased no matter how much you might wish it to be gone from your mind. 

And, Oliver considered, who would blame Elio for such a reaction? He certainly had sympathy for Elio’s longing for home. On some level, some very intellectual level, Oliver can understand that Elio’s reaction would be about the grief of never being able to go home again, rather than being stuck forever with Oliver. But so often the head and the heart do not communicate well and Oliver knows himself, knows himself well enough to know his heart would feel as though Elio was rejecting him. His heart might not survive that rejection despite his head’s attempts to speak rational thought to his emotions. 

He also still feels that he should be able to protect Elio from all this. That he should be able to figure out what happened and how to fix it. Even if he doesn’t want to.

So he waits. Waiting is not painful, not in the slightest. They talk, they get to know each other. They had been friends first, as Elio told him _perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. But then perhaps this is what lovers are._ And Oliver feels a secret thrill that his time with Elio has, at the very least, imprinted on him a healthy expectation for romantic relationships. 

They talk, they get to know each other. They use the knowledge that they gained by researching LGBTQ+ history to talk about their own identities. There are suddenly more words, a more nuanced understanding of attraction, love, and desire than they had available to them before. Oliver, who back in 1983 (and now, now is terrified of losing Elio to anybody, feels almost jealous of his family for the affection Elio has for them, doesn’t but almost does, saved from it only by the affection Oliver himself has for them) had hoped Elio could and would choose to be with a woman, to make his life easier, learns that it is not as simple as simply picking a gender to date for ease in the world. 

“This summer then,” Oliver states but it’s more of a question. Neither of them have brought up the way they refer to the summer of 1983 as “this summer” for how else would they refer to it? To be more specific would underline it, highlight it, in a way that still scares Elio and Oliver is not ready to address. 

“This summer,” Elio grins at him, slightly crooked, and full of mirth. 

“With Marzia,” Oliver prompts, biting back a grin. He cannot resist Elio’s teasing; he’s a very willing player in this game.

“With Marzia,” Elio makes an attempt to school his features into a questioning gaze, eyebrows wrinkled and pulled together, the space between them crinkled, an attempt at a frown dancing, tripping, and falling across his lips. 

“You are not nearly as good an actor as Timothee!” Oliver exclaims. “Yes, with Marzia, you goose! Don’t try to play innocent with me, I could smell her on you.” He softens his words by digging his fingers between Elio’s ribs, causing his expression to break, breathless laughter to spill from lips that were trying to contain a smile in a frown. 

“St-stop! Stop! Oliver!” Elio cries. “Tregua! Tregua! Please!” 

Oliver ceases the tickling and holds Elio as he catches his breath, resting his lips among his curls, just inhaling the scent of him. It calms him, like the smell of home, and one’s favorite meal, and something that his heart has always known. 

Elio twists in his arms, looks up at him, and smiles. The smile is shy, almost tentative. “This summer, with Marzia....”

Oliver suddenly feels ashamed, he shouldn’t pry. Elio’s experiences are his own and Oliver feels as if he is fishing for reassurance that, once-given, he will need again and again, like scratching a mosquito bite. He fears in the moment he might feel some relief but, ultimately, will prolong his neediness, preventing this wound from healing. 

And then just as suddenly, he is struck by the hubris of anticipating Elio’s answer to somehow give Oliver any reassurance. After all, just because he held Elio as he cried that he didn’t want Oliver to leave, just because he traveled with Oliver to Bergamo, just because he cried when he learned Oliver planned to marry a woman, just because they are here now and stuck together, does not mean anything. He could have grown sick of Oliver for all the time they have had to spend together, tolerating his company because Oliver is the only one who knows him here. He could have been longing for Marzia, or someone else, for some time, the longing growing stronger with every day he has been shackled to Oliver. 

Elio swallows and continues, “I enjoyed my time with her, I did. I find women attractive, just as much as I find men.” He pauses, seems to think for a moment. “Just as attractive as I find all genders, really, I guess. But you, Oliver, you were the one I fell for. It was with you that I felt at home.” 

“But with Marzia, it would have been easy. Easier. Not only because she’s a girl - a young woman - but because you would see her again, for the remainder of the summer, and again after that.” Oliver does not know why he feels the need to push. Like pressing on a bruise to check if it hurts, he wants to see how far Elio is willing to go. He’s trained in the Socratic method, questioning those who study under him, whittling down their arguments to arrive at the truth. He wants Elio laid bare, with nothing but the truth before him. 

“I guess easy doesn’t factor into it. Even if it would break my heart in the end, Oliver, my heart still chose you,” Elio responds and then, as if anticipating Oliver’s next question, “Just as it has nothing to do with ease, it has nothing to do with parts. With body parts. I’m attracted to you because you’re Oliver.”

Reassured, for now at least, Oliver can’t help but bring some levity to the conversation, to signal to Elio that his examination is over. “I haven’t heard you complaining about the parts…”

Elio huffs out a laugh and, in the same breath, launches himself at Oliver, kissing him. He whispers against his lips, “Nor will you. I very much enjoy your parts, Oliver. All of them.” He reaches around and slides his hand into Oliver’s pants, cupping his butt cheek with his slender fingers, letting one slide into the crevice between them. Oliver lets out a low moan against his lips. 

No matter how much time they’re gifted, how much of a reprieve against the train that would have taken Oliver away they are given, they still make love as though they have been granted a stay of execution. Not that it is always frenetic - they take their time with each other. Elio slowly opening Oliver up with his fingers and tongue, over and over pulling his hips up, preventing him from gaining friction against the bed, until he is a writhing mess of want, begging for Elio. Oliver finally welcomes Elio into his body, feeling like this they are finally whole. 

And, as they hold each other after, Oliver thinks again about the possibility of remaining in this time. Of living life as an openly gay man in a world that is finally accepting.

They’re traveling to Rome when the Oscar nominations are announced. Even though he knows Elio was not the one giving the performance, he can’t help but feel proud of him. Similarly, he feels proud that their story, this movie, was nominated. For him, for now, it is confirmation that the culture welcomes them. 

He doesn’t consider that Armie wasn’t nominated, until he sees everyone they are traveling with eying him, gauging his reaction. He is not an actor, beyond the acting he has done his entire life, and therefore forgets that he might be expected to have a reaction to being passed over for this considerable honor. Even Elio seems to think he was snubbed, insisting on mentioning him, or, rather, Armie, in the statement he releases in response to the nomination: 

“Wow, what an incredible morning. I’m a bit in shock. The feeling of gratitude I have at the moment has less to do with individual achievement and more with the appreciation for the artists past honored in this category and all of the nominees of this year. I am in awe of the pedigree of the Academy. I am truly honored.

I’ve been traveling with Armie Hammer the last twelve hours. We land in two hours and we will be back in Italy together for the first time in a year and a half. Tonight we’re getting dinner with Luca Guadagnino. Without Luca’s true mastery and vision, and without Armie’s trust and guidance, without the public arts funding that made my high school education at LaGuardia possible, I wouldn’t be in this position. Thank you to those that made this possible, and the Academy, for this recognition.”

Ever the professor’s son, he does not neglect to mention the education he received that brought him, or Timothee, to this moment.

It is only later, as their journey to Rome continues, and Oliver has a chance to do more research that he begins to realize something with a creeping dread. It feels like cold fingers twisting up through his insides and wrapping around his heart. With every mention of Armie being snubbed, of Michael being snubbed, of Luca being snubbed, the creeping freeze continues to grow. 

It is a grief filled with anger that makes him want to rend his clothes and mourn. To scream and cry. He feels done with whatever this experience has been. At least in 1983, he had little hope, nothing to pin any dreams to and he was on stable ground. He feels now like Moses, being shown the promised land only to be denied entry. A little bit of hope is a dangerous beast, it will kill more swiftly than never having any to start with. 

As soon as he can, he makes his way to his hotel room, eager to lock himself inside and away from the cruelties of being able to taste hope without being given a meaningful chance to savor it. 

He is not fast enough, or rather a world in which he doesn’t want Elio to follow him, to ultimately be at his side, that world does not exist. Elio pushes his way alongside Oliver through the door, closing it behind him and leaving his back against it. 

He is breathless with the effort of matching Oliver’s long strides and worry paints itself across every feature. “Oliver?” 

Oliver runs his hand over his mouth, staring at Elio. “Elio,” he whispers. “I had let myself think… I had let myself dream that you and I, that we could be happy here.”

“Here? What do you mean here?” Elio’s voice creeps higher with every word, finally breaking, betraying both his youth and his emotions. 

“Here, now. I thought if we stayed - “ Oliver’s heart, despite having no bones, has already been broken today and cannot bear another pounding, so he rushes the next words, “ - if we had to stay, we could at least be together.” Maybe even get married, he wants to add but doesn’t. 

“B-but Liz?” Elio, having never faced the type of pressure Oliver has to erase his identity and make himself someone different, someone who can fit into the the tightest of boxes, is of course first concerned with the feelings of others, with the damage to relationships with those they have come to care for. 

Oliver gives him a half shrug and a quarter smile, “I figured these days it is not uncommon for a marriage to end once someone realizes his true identity. Perhaps, this way, fewer feelings are hurt than other ways marriages might end. It’s nothing anyone did but simply a journey of self-discovery starting later or taking longer than one might hope.”

“So what - wait I’m confused, what happened today? Does this have to do with the nominations?” Oliver appreciates that Elio, at least, is not asking if he is hurt that Armie was snubbed. That Elio recognizes that of course Oliver wishes Armie had been recognized but his own feelings would never be hurt to not receive recognition for work he did not himself do, just as Elio does not feel proud of Timothee’s nomination for his own gratification, but rather the pride one would feel for his brother. These men have become like brothers to them, long-lost twins perhaps, that they can only know from the stories they are told or the ways in which people interact with them in a case of mistaken identity. 

Oliver sinks onto the couch and Elio hurries to follow him. Oliver sighs and begins to explain. 

He reminds Elio that this movie is still an “indie” film - not a big blockbuster, not a huge romantic comedy. 

He reminds Elio of every interview they have done in which Armie and Timothee are called brave for acting in a gay romance. Every interview where the actors’ sexual identities are confirmed as heterosexual.

That even in a film about a passionate summer between two men, the actors chosen are not queer. Oliver is quick to say he is moved by the performance of both men but that the choice reflects a growing frustration in the LGBTQ+ community that straight (or at least not out), actors play queer and trans roles. That this happens not because there are no talented queer and trans actors out there (it is a form of theater after all) but that there are few well-known queer actors. Because once an actor is out, the roles for him dry up. He is somehow no longer believable as a leading man when the love interest is a woman. There are exceptions of course, but it is a challenge to name a gay actor who has achieved and maintained stardom in a variety of roles. The reverse is not true. Just as Timothee and Armie are heralded as “courageous” for accepting these roles, when a straight man plays a gay or trans character, he is rewarded with award nominations. It is an achievement of his great acting talent that he could play the role so believably. It was not that they did not hire a gay actor, they hired the best man for the job. 

Oliver is quick to excuse Luca and Armie and Timothee - he has come to care for Luca as he did Pro and for Armie and Timothee in their absence. This is not about Call Me By Your Name.

“Then what is it about, Oliver?” Elio looks no less confused than he did when the conversation started.

“If we stay - if we get stuck here,” Oliver says, “Coming out would, well would likely ruin Armie’s career and Timothee’s.” 

“But why should we care? We would be here, not them - “ panic rises in Elio’s eyes as he gives thought for the first time to what may have happened to Armie and Timothee but Oliver watches as Elio carefully, evenly, presses that panic down, saving it for another day. “We would be here, not them. You - you’re not an actor. I’ve never acted a day in my life. Why would we care about being able to have a successful acting career?” 

Oliver pauses, he feels uncertain how to say what he wants to say. He is not struggling to find the words, he just knows it is a blow to them both. It is one detail of his hopes to remain here that he has not figured out and when he is in denial about how he fears for his heart should he share his hopes with Elio, he tells himself that until he can figure this out, there’s no sense in telling him. But here they are, he has not been able to figure this out, and it is no longer a detail, after what he realized today, everything hinges on this. He brushes his thumb across Elio’s cheek, brushing away tears he imagines will soon fall, or perhaps the tears he wants to let run down his own cheeks, they are the same, Elio and Oliver, after all, they are one. “Elio, Armie Hammer is an actor. If we are stuck here, if I’m to make any type of living, I have to be an actor. Or perhaps a bartender or something that people do when they are not successful at acting. I suppose I could be a bartender.” He pauses, Elio already knows about his bartending experience in college. “But Armie Hammer cannot become a professor of philosophy - he doesn’t have the necessary education, degrees, curriculum vitae. He is not me.” 

“And Elio, perhaps Timothee is also a talented musician. He did learn to play the piano after all. But the type of dreams you had - Timothee is established as an actor, even for one so young.” He smiles here. “I suppose it is fitting that only someone so talented at such a young age could play you so convincingly.” He sobers again. “But if you wanted to start a new career as a musician, you would have to start over, building those connections, making people aware of this newfound passion, starting a career from scratch. Which is doable at your age, to get that training and start over. I would - I would have to go earn an undergraduate degree all over again and then...the job market for philosophy professors is not what it was in 1983, it is a difficult way to make a living. Almost as difficult as becoming successful as an actor in Hollywood.” 

And there it is. To remain in this world, where two men can love each other and be married, he would have to remain in a profession where there remains unspoken (often the most poisonous type) homophobia. His dreams of having a successful career, albeit not one of his choosing, and a relationship with the man he loves, have been dashed in a matter of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos - they truly bring light into my life during this time and I hope this story brings some moments of happy distraction to you. 
> 
> Chag sameach to those observing! Next year may be we be free.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy's relationship is forever altered when they find themselves navigating through the midnight scene, and all the messiness that goes with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So um. I don't even know, guys. Lol. I had a plan for this chapter, and I *knew* it would be longer than most of the others, but I really had no idea it would turn out THIS LONG. That being said, there was a *ton* of ground to cover here, and many intricate details that needed to be addressed and sorted out before I could really get into the meat of the midnight scene proper. So...please excuse the crazy length but it was kinda needed. I promise the rest of my chapters will NOT be this massive.
> 
> And just a note: this chapter does address the Marzia issue that a few of you were asking about in the comments. I realized after my whole genius plot twist a few chapters back that I had kinda written myself into a bit of a mess in that regard, but I think I found a way to deal with it that will be satisfying to everyone and not feel too icky on the matters of consent. I did my best, I hope you can go with me on it.
> 
> And lastly, as always, thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, or otherwise given this fic some form of love. You guys are amazing. <333

It’s a special kind of torture knowing that, after they finally were able to be more open about their mutual feelings, the story dictates that Armie has to pull away from Timmy until their midnight meeting. He desperately wants to talk things out with Timmy, figure out exactly where he’s at and where the lines are, and they really need to discuss the reality of the situation with the midnight scene rapidly approaching.

When he returns to the villa late that night, he hopes maybe he can quietly slip into Timmy’s room and they can talk, but he’s surprised to find Timmy already passed out when he goes to find him. He’s tempted to wake him, but knowing that Timmy hasn’t been able to sleep well since they got there, he decides to leave him be.

The next morning, when he goes to check on Timmy, he finds him sitting on the edge of the bed, hair ruffled and only wearing boxers, staring aimlessly at the floor.

“Tim? You ok?”

Without looking away from the spot his eyes are fixed on, Timmy nods slowly, and Armie’s chest tightens, seeing that Timmy is clearly _not_ ok. His mind immediately jumps to thinking that what happened between them yesterday freaked Timmy out, that he doesn’t actually feel that way about Armie and he’d read the entire situation wrong. Maybe Timmy really had just been acting this whole time.

Hesitantly, he moves into the room and gently drops to sit on the bed next to Timmy, trying to think of what to say. Timmy’s weight wobbles as the mattress shifts beside him, but otherwise he stays completely still and silent. It’s so unnatural from the way Timmy normally behaves, Armie can’t help but internally freak out that he ruined everything.

“Listen, Timmy. I’m really sorry if what happened yesterday was too much. Maybe I was too forward, but I just thought, with the way things had been going –“

A delicate hand lands gently on his knee, cutting off his rambling. “No, it’s not that. It’s not anything you did.” Timmy still hasn’t looked at him, but the way his slender fingers are curling in slightly to grip his knee tighter is at least somewhat reassuring.

Armie waits a beat, thinking that Timmy will explain further, but when nothing else comes, he figures he’s going to have to push a bit more. “Ok then, what’s going on? There’s obviously something bothering you.”

Timmy fingers dig the slightest bit harder into his skin before he removes his hand completely, and Armie is surprised at the sense of loss he feels. There’s a beat, then Timmy finally turns his head sideways to meet his eyes. “I realized what happens today, in the script.”

Eyebrows furrowing together, Armie tries to follow Timmy’s thought process and remember the timeline of events. It takes a second, but then it hits him like a brick to the face. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

He’d been so focused on the building tension between him and Timmy that he’d completely forgotten the other part of this very messy equation: Marzia.

He can feel the bed shaking underneath him as Timmy’s legs jiggle restlessly in agitation, and every cell in his body wants to reach out and comfort him, but he hesitates, unsure if Timmy would be open to it right now.

“I’d been trying to just avoid it, ya know? But then we know what happened the last time, and…I’d hoped we’d be back to our own lives by now. But we’re still here.”

The unspoken question of whether or not he’d been hoping to avoid the physical aspect of their story as well hangs in the air, but he doesn’t dare ask it, knowing now isn’t the time to open that can of worms.

“Right. So what um…what are you gonna do?” As soon as the question leaves his lips, he regrets asking it. He watches helplessly as Timmy buries his face in his hands, a pained whine escaping from his throat and cutting right into Armie’s heart.

“Fuck, I don’t know, man! I mean, what _can_ I do? We both know if I mess with the story, we’ll just end up starting the day over again.” As much as he wants to, Armie knows he can’t argue with that. “Fuck Elio and his dumb indecisive ass!”

The outburst takes Armie by surprise, and part of him wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, but when Timmy nearly collapses sideways into his shoulder, he quickly forgets any humor and goes directly into protective mode, wrapping an arm around Timmy’s shoulders to keep him upright and pulling him close as Timmy begins to shake in his arms.

It’s another couple of minutes of Armie just letting Timmy ride out his emotions, giving him steady but silent support, until Timmy finally settles down and pulls himself up so he can look in Armie’s eyes. And when he does, Armie’s heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, seeing the fear and pain so openly reflected there. And along with it, the silent pleading for Armie to tell him what to do. His immediate impulse is to come to the rescue, to guide him in the way that has become so natural in their relationship. But just as he goes to open his mouth, the helpless feeling intensifies as he realizes that this isn’t something he can fix, that this has to be Timmy’s decision alone.

He can see the moment Timmy realizes it, too. Recognizes the resignation washing over Timmy’s face as his body sags further into him again. It’s almost too much, not knowing how to help Timmy with this, not being able to fix it so Timmy isn’t forced to act out scenes he’s uncomfortable with, and without the luxury of a director to yell “cut” when it gets too intense.

His mind scrambles for something, anything to say that might reassure Timmy in even the smallest way, but before he can come up with anything even remotely adequate, Timmy abruptly stands and walks over to the window, leaning his head out and breathing the already warm morning air deeply.

“You should probably go. Don’t want to fuck things up this early in the day.”

Despite knowing Timmy is right, the words still sting. Hearing the defeat in Timmy’s voice makes him want to punch something, but he somehow manages to keep his composure long enough to walk over to where Timmy is standing and give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “You’re probably right. But…don’t you think we should talk about what happens next…with us?”

It’s the worst possible moment to address the subject, and he knows it, but given the nature of how the story unfolds, they really won’t have another chance to discuss things until the midnight scene is already upon them, and there’s too much at stake here to go into it without a more clear idea of where they stand.

Timmy stiffens slightly, but he can feel the way he fights to breathe deeply and relax under Armie’s solid hands on his shoulders. “I think I need to just get through today first. See what happens and if we even make it to tomorrow. Then we’ll go from there.”

It’s not the response he was hoping for, but he can’t exactly argue, given the situation and how much harder this is for Timmy than for him. “Right, ok. I won’t go far, in case you need to find me.” He hesitates, wanting to say more but knowing there really wasn’t much else he could say that would make any of this better. Instead, as he pulls away, he lets one of his hands slide down Timmy’s arm until it reaches his hand, wrapping his fingers around it for a brief second and squeezing before he lets it drop.

When he gets to the doorway, he looks back, finding Timmy still with his back to him. He lets out a quiet sigh, trying not to let Timmy’s sudden coldness get to him. He can’t exactly blame him, but he selfishly hopes that this doesn’t mess things up between them. He’d just been starting to allow himself to settle into his feelings about Timmy, and the thought of never getting to truly explore them would kill him.

He spends the next few hours attempting to work on his thesis paper in a quiet area near the edge of the Perlman property, far enough away to give Timmy a bit of space but not too far in case Timmy decides he wants to come find him. But after rereading the same sentence for the 20th time, he stops pretending to do any actual work and just leans back against a tree and stares out across the large grassy area, eyes flicking up in the direction of the villa at every tiny sound.

Eventually, Anchise finds him and starts up a conversation about the how the crops are faring this season, and even though Armie can only understand about a third of what he’s saying, he still welcomes the distraction. 

When he finally makes his way back inside in the early afternoon, he wants to check on Timmy and make sure he’s not completely freaking out, but finds that Timmy has already left. He tries his best to ignore the ache in his chest and the growing sense of dread forming a pit in his stomach.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, though he knows he has at least three other conversations with people over that time. His years of being an actor and having to network with people he doesn’t necessarily care for have trained him in the art of holding a conversation without really listening, and it comes in handy when his mind is focused on wondering where Timmy is at any given minute, and what he’s doing.

The only time he falters is during dinner, when he’s too busy staring at Timmy/Elio’s empty chair to hear when Professor Perlman asks him what he thinks about his time in Italy so far. After asking him to repeat the question, he forces himself to focus on the people sitting around him until the meal ends and he can escape to the quiet of his bedroom.

But that turns out to be almost worse, left alone with nothing but his thoughts, trying and failing not to imagine what Timmy is doing, and with whom. He lies awake for hours, cycling through a thousand emotions as he waits for Timmy to return. But eventually the pull of exhaustion is too strong, and he drifts into unconsciousness with the image of Timmy’s hand in his, clasping tightly to keep him from slipping away.

When he wakes the next morning and spots the note slipped under his door, he wrestles with the feeling of relief that they made it to the next day, and the immediate wave of nausea he feels with the knowledge of how they got there. And if he’s being totally honest with himself, there’s a sting of jealousy mixed into the equation that he hadn’t been expecting, but he can’t ignore.

Picking up the folded piece of paper, he almost doesn’t bother opening it, already knowing the words he will find there. But something tells him he should, and he’s shocked to see it’s not what he expected. _Praying this works. See you at midnight?_

Blinking down at the paper, he’s not sure what to make of the change Timmy has made to the content of the note, and that he essentially stole Armie’s response. But something about it gives him a tiny spark of hope that they will be able to get through this without ruining everything they’ve spent the last two years building.

He spends more time than is probably necessary trying to formulate the right response, and when he finally writes the words, he lets out a long breath and hopes he can survive the next 15 hours. _You know where to find me_.

Placing in on the desk in Elio’s room, a mixture of excitement and doubt rolls through him. He wishes he had a chance to talk to Timmy, and now regrets not taking the opportunity to be clear with him when he’d come out and asked him at the Piave memorial. At the time, he’d thought if they talked about what was going on, he’d find a way to talk himself out of it. And as the days went on, he realized how much he didn’t want to do that.

It worked great for him, allowing himself to ease into the idea of seeing Timmy as more than just his friend and co-star. The only problem is now he doesn’t know how Timmy feels about it, and though the attraction and desire is clearly there for both of them, he isn’t sure what kind of intentions, if any, Timmy has to translate that into something more tangible.

The sound of laughter coming from down the hall shakes him out of his thoughts, and he quickly moves to make his way downstairs. When he catches Timmy’s eye as he descends the stairs, there’s a noticeable spark in them that he hadn’t been expecting to see after last night.

There’s a brief flash where he wonders if maybe Timmy had actually _enjoyed_ sleeping with Marzia – he is a hot-blooded 21 year old male, after all – but when he asks if Timmy had a good night, there’s a subtle shift in his expression and it only makes Armie even more confused. He doesn’t have a chance to question it, though, because Samuel enters the room right on cue. But as Timmy passes by him on his way up the stairs, their arms brush together as Timmy leans ever-so-slightly into him.

But as quick as it happened, the moment is over and Timmy disappears up the stairs while Samuel tells him about the slides they need to go over. With one more fleeting look back up the stairs, he turns and follows Samuel into the study.

It takes every bit of concentration he has to pay attention to the slides and try to act like he understands what Samuel is talking about instead of focusing on the way Timmy’s arm brushing against his made his skin tingle.

“Not a straight body in these statues. They’re all curved. Sometimes impossibly curved. And so nonchalant. Hence their ageless ambiguity. As if they’re daring you to desire them.”

He knows there isn’t any more scripted dialogue in this part of the scene, but he’s seized by a sudden need to understand what Samuel is trying to say in this moment, something he could only ever guess before. “What if you did? Desire them?”

Samuel turns to him as he exhales a cloud of smoke, an easy smile on his face. “Well, that’s when life gets more interesting. To challenge what’s expected and give into your true nature…there’s nothing more divine.”

In hindsight, he shouldn’t really be surprised by the breezy way Samuel espouses such profound insights that seep under his skin and take root in his very core. And yet he feels completely blindsided by how Samuel is able to make it seem so simple and easy, like it isn’t possibly the most terrifying thing he’s ever had to face in his life. And yet, hearing explained it in such a way makes it almost impossible to argue or excuse away, and he’s left with a feeling of true acceptance that he’s never had before.

It helps ease many of his doubts and fears about what’s to come later that night, but there’s still the matter of Timmy’s feelings about it, and he still doesn’t know where he falls. But things become slightly more clear when they sit down for lunch together. He knows they need to be careful and keep up their roles in front of Samuel and Annella, but he’s itching for some kind of sign that Timmy is still on board with things with them.

He finds it in the way Timmy spreads his legs wide in his chair so that their knees are touching under the table. And when Timmy accidentally drops his knife, the way Timmy’s hand grazes up his thigh when he bends down to pick it up is a pretty clear signal that there’s still something worth exploring between them. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but he can’t help the flutter he feels in his stomach in anticipation of the night’s events.

It makes spending the rest of the day away from Timmy a bit more tolerable, knowing that there isn’t the awkwardness between them that he had feared after their last interaction yesterday. After Timmy leaves the lunch table, he makes his way upstairs for a quick shower and to change, hanging Billowy on the edge of the footboard with a wistful smile and grabbing the forest green shirt out of the closet.

Doing his best to ignore the prickly feeling he gets when he rides past Marzia coming up to the villa as he’s leaving, he concentrates on remembering the delicate way Timmy’s fingers traced his bare skin just an hour ago, with the promise of more to come later.

He decides to ride to the berm, wanting to be alone to give himself time to sort out his feelings about everything. They had both avoided thinking about the possibility of having to live through this day for the first couple weeks they had been there. The uncertainty, the guilt of what it would do to his marriage, despite its deteriorated state, not to mention the risk of fucking up their entire relationship, had been too much for him to contemplate.

But now that things between him and Timmy have shifted and progressed in a way that he can’t reverse, he finds that he wouldn’t want to even if he could. It isn’t something he ever thought would happen, though in hindsight he thinks he probably should have seen it coming from the moment they met, but he hadn’t been ready to examine the reason he had immediately been so drawn to Timmy, or why he never questioned how easy both their emotional and physical intimacy felt.

But now that they are on the precipice of altering their relationship permanently, it becomes clear how right it feels, how it’s always felt, in a way that it never quite was with Elizabeth. And the fact that it took the catalyst of them being transported into a fictional world where they have to act out their character’s story for him to figure all this out should probably freak him out, but all he can really feel is grateful that he was given this opportunity before it was too late and Timmy slipped away from him without ever having realized the depth of what they had.

There are still so many uncertainties with all of this, and about what will happen when or if they ever return to their regular lives, but the one thing he knows for sure is how he feels about Timmy, and that he’s unwilling to lose him in whatever capacity their relationship takes shape. And it seems that Timmy feels the same way, though he’d like to actually _talk_ to him about it to be sure. They’d started this journey out with Timmy saying he’d wanted space and boundaries, and now they are about to cross a major boundary and he needs to be sure it’s what Timmy really wants, and not just something he feels forced to do because of the situation they are in.

The hours roll by without him really being aware of the time, intentionally having taken off his watch so he wouldn’t keep checking it obsessively like he knows Timmy probably is. It’s amazing how similar they are to their respective characters in so many ways, but there are also definite differences. This experience has been a fascinating study into the ways in which Timmy reacts to things as both himself and as Elio, having to be both and not having the benefit to completely separate himself from either as he could while they were filming. He sees it in himself as well, sometimes questioning who is really leading his thoughts and actions at any given moment – Armie or Oliver.

His thoughts drift to Oliver, the person whose life he’s living currently. He wonders what Oliver thought about during this time in the story. Was he still having doubts, or had he made peace with the decision to move forward with Elio after he replied to his note? Or was it even before that, when they had kissed? Did he think about his life back home, his off-and-on girlfriend? Did he ever consider a scenario in which he left all of it behind and stayed with Elio? And if he did, what was it that made him not go through with it? 

He thinks about his own life, what he wants vs. the responsibilities he knows he can’t just walk away from. He’s never had such an immersive acting experience that mirrored his own life so closely, but now that he’s in it, he finds himself wishing he could talk to Oliver, really understand how he felt about everything and why he made the choices he did.

The sun dips below the horizon as his thoughts return to Timmy, hoping that he’s feeling the same anticipation that he is, and not fear or anxiety. He pulls out the joint that he luckily remembered to roll earlier and had stuck in his pocket, knowing he would most likely need to calming influence before heading back to the villa and Timmy.

His mind freefalls into many different subjects once the weed hits his system, and before he knows it, night has fallen and he finds it’s time to start heading back. The cool breeze on his face as he rides along the quiet road back to the villa helps to clear his mind a bit so he can be fully present when Timmy comes to find him.

As he approaches the entryway of the villa about twenty minutes to midnight, he can hear the beautiful strains of Timmy playing the piano through the open windows. A sense of pride flows through him as he stops just inside the door to listen for a few seconds before anyone knows he’s there. He knows Timmy is talented in many ways, and he was always impressed by how well he’d picked up the various skills he had to learn for filming. And hearing him play again, without missing a single note, like no time had passed at all, makes his stomach flutter in admiration of this amazing kid who, for some crazy reason, thinks he’s worthy of his love and praise.

Finally emerging from the shadows as Timmy comes to the end of the piece, he gives a tiny glance over to Timmy, and though Timmy never looks up, he knows that Timmy can sense his presence in the way he straightens his back and clenches his jaw as he continues to play.

Stealing away up the stairs before he draws any more attention, he retreats to his room and tries to mentally prepare himself for what comes next. He rolls another joint and takes it out to the balcony, waiting to light it until just before midnight, figuring Timmy might need it more than he does.

Doing his best to remain calm and steady despite feeling like his entire body is on fire, he patiently waits to hear the soft footfalls of Timmy behind him. When he hears the car with Isaac and Munir pull away down the driveway, he takes several deep breaths, waiting. But several minutes go by with nothing.

He breaks down and checks his watch, and when he sees the hands showing 12:13 am, he begins to wonder if Timmy changed his mind or had some kind of freak out about what was going to happen. The temptation to go find him is almost impossible to ignore, but he takes a long hit of the blunt instead, willing him to wait just a bit more.

At 12:19, he sees a shadow out of his peripheral vision and his skin starts to tingle as he senses Timmy behind him, finally. He doesn’t turn around, though, waits until Timmy steps up beside him and leans against the balcony railing, a soft smile on his face.

He wordlessly hands Timmy the joint, and Timmy takes it without hesitation, pulling a lot hit before exhaling, body relaxing and leaning into Armie’s as they stand hunched over together looking out over the backyard, quiet and peaceful.

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

He can feel Timmy turn his head to look at him, but he continues to look straight out, needing one last minute to collect himself before they go further.

“Of course I was coming. Sorry I was late, I just had to take care of something first. It took a little longer than I thought.”

He does look at Timmy then, and if he had any doubt of the sincerity in his words, they vanish when their eyes meet. The look in Timmy’s eyes makes his breath catch, not used the quiet confidence that shines through so clearly now. The feeling of Timmy’s hand sliding into his startles him a bit, but when Timmy’s slender fingers twine through his own, it feels like the most right thing in the world.

“We should go inside.”

It’s all Armie can do to follow Timmy’s lead when he tugs their joined hands and begins moving back toward the door. Their steps light, making sure both doors are gently closed behind them.

Timmy’s hand is still holding onto his, and part of him doesn’t want him to ever let go. But after another minute of them standing still, breathing slowly as the reality of the situation seeps into every molecule of air surrounding them, Timmy finally steps back and releases his hold on Armie’s hand.

Much to his surprise, Timmy doesn’t waste any time, and begins lifting his arms to take off his shirt. Suddenly it’s all a bit fast, and he reaches out to grip Timmy’s wrist before they go for his belt. “Wait, wait. Don’t you think we should talk first?”

Timmy doesn’t struggle, but he lifts his head and gives him a wry smile. “Elio and Oliver didn’t need to talk.”

Armie narrows his eyes, torn between being stunned by Timmy’s sudden boldness and his anxiety to know what’s going on in his head. “We’re not Elio and Oliver.”

The earnestness in his voice and eyes must have come across, because he can instantly see Timmy relent, hands dropping from his pants, and he sits down heavily on the edge of the bed with a soft sigh. “I know that. I guess I just didn’t want to overanalyze the situation.”

While he can definitely understand the desire to act first, in this case, the stakes are too high, and he isn’t willing to risk damaging his relationship with Timmy before he’s sure. “I just need to know that this is something you _want_ to do for yourself, as Timmy, and not that you’re just going through with it as Elio because you feel you have to. You are too important to me to fuck this up without being positive we’re on the same page.”

Timmy’s head shoots up to look at him, a cross between annoyance and bemusement in his expression. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Armie, I’ve wanted this for…fuck, I don’t ever remember _not_ wanting it. It’s just not something I ever thought would become a reality. So yeah, I’m sorry if I’m a little impatient here, but I’ve been waiting almost _two fucking years_ for you to catch up, and I’m not about to waste any more time.”

The declaration catches him completely off-guard, rendering him momentarily speechless. It’s all he can do to gape open-mouthed at Timmy as he tries to get his brain to wrap around the idea that Timmy has wanted him this whole time. And when Timmy gets up from the bed and steps up to him again, he’s frozen in place, unable to say or do anything but breathe until Timmy’s hand comes up to land gently on his chest.

“Is this what _you_ really want? You have a lot more at stake here than I do, and whatever our feelings might be for each other, I know crossing this line isn’t simple or easy for you given everything you have to go back after we get out of here.”

Hearing Timmy phrase it in that way, it hits him just how much he’s come to peace with this, that, despite the tinge of guilt that will always be present for being unfaithful, he knows in his heart that this isn’t just any random fling. This is _Timmy_ , and while he has no idea what the future will bring for any of them, he knows that he does want this, no matter the consequences.

“I do want this. Very much. I’m sorry it took me so long to catch onto what was going on. I can be a little slow sometimes.” He gives a self-deprecating laugh, hoping to lighten the mood a little and get them back on track now that the reason for his hesitation is gone.

Timmy’s smile is blinding, and it makes his heart squeeze with affection at how happy he looks. “Good. Now that that’s settled…” Timmy trails off as his fingers slide up to close around the top button of his shirt, slipping it loose with ease. He starts to go for the next one, but Timmy’s earlier impatience must have been contagious, because now he can’t wait to be free of his clothes.

He reaches behind him to start yanking if over his head, but Timmy stops him. “No, don’t. Let me do this.” Armie looks down at him in confusion, wondering why the sudden need to go slow, but when Timmy adds a breathy, “Please,” he’s helpless but to acquiesce. His hands drop back to his sides and his eyes drop to watch as Timmy continues to deftly free each of his buttons from their respective hole. He makes quick work of it, and once the last one pops open, Timmy gently slides his hands up over Armie’s shoulder and pushes it off, letting it fall to the ground in a pool at his feet.

Now both shirtless, they stand still for a minute before Timmy shuffles forward another step, bringing them flush together, their difference in height more pronounced as Timmy has to angle his head up to meet his eyes. “Kiss me, Armie.” It’s barely a whisper, but he feels it in his bones, and he’s completely incapable of denying anything Timmy asks of him in that moment.

The second their lips touch, the entire world shifts on its axis and the air crackles with anticipation. It starts slow, Armie’s lips sliding over Timmy’s and relishing the soft fullness of them. But when Timmy’s lips part on a quiet moan and the tip of his tongue caresses Armie’s, it’s like a switch flips, and the room alights with fire. And suddenly slow is no longer an option.

He walks them back over to the bed, and Timmy barely catches himself in time before he goes tumbling backward onto it. Armie scrambles after him, slotting perfectly between Timmy’s thighs, which are open wide in invitation. He kisses his way up Timmy’s bare chest until he reaches his mouth again, hungrily drinking him in like a dying man in the desert.

After another couple minutes of making out, Timmy leans them up and pulls something out of the back pocket of his jeans. When he presses it into Armie’s hand, he sees it’s a small tube of lube. All the air rushes out of his lungs as his mind catches up to what his body is aching for.

He flicks his gaze up to meet Timmy’s, who just holds his steadily while spreading his legs even wider. He breathes in deeply and swallows. “Right, umm…I guess I need to like…prepare you, right?”

Despite being sure he wants this, he feels a wave of nerves crash over him with the practicality of it all. He wants it to feel good for both of them, but he knows that with his size, he isn’t the easiest to take, and he’s never tried this with a man before.

But Timmy gives a shy smile and ducks his head. “Actually, I um…I already did.”

It’s not at all the response he’s expecting, and he’s not sure what to do with that information. “What? When?”

Timmy’s entire face flushes bright red at his question and he bites at his lower lip, and despite the awkwardness of the current situation, he can’t help but find it totally endearing. “Uhh, earlier, before I came out to find you. It’s why I was late. I thought it would just be easier, ya know, this time, to just do it myself. To speed things along. Or whatever.”

Armie is torn between being impressed that Timmy had the forethought to prepare himself beforehand and the slight feeling of disappointment at not being able to do it himself. But then he realizes that, assuming things go the way they plan, there will be plenty more opportunities for him to be involved in that aspect of things, so he tries not to let it bother him too much.

“Oh…ok, well then great.” He gives a shaky smile, and Timmy must sense his hesitation, because he leans back up and places both hands on either side of his face, forcing Armie to look into his eyes.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m not worried, and I won’t break. Just…go slow. I made sure I was stretched open pretty good, but…I’ve seen what you’re working with, and I only have so many fingers.” 

The lewd smirk that accompanies Timmy’s seemingly heartfelt words is so ridiculous that Armie lets out a bark of laughter. “Ok, asshole. I’ll have you know I’ve never had any complaints.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Timmy expression transforms to one of pure heat and lust, and he can feel his very hard cock twitch in his pants, which are suddenly very constricting and he needs them to be off right that second.

Both of them make quick work of removing the rest of their clothes, and when they come back together again, the feel of being skin-to-skin makes him shiver with desire. Armie carefully lowers himself onto Timmy, making sure to shift his weight to one side to avoid crushing him.

After another couple of minutes of exploring hands and mouths, Timmy moans quietly, and he knows that they both won’t last too much longer if they keep going like this. He sits back up, twisting around, eyes searching for where Elio might have kept his condoms.

Timmy must figure out what he’s looking for, because he leans up on his elbows with a low sigh. “There aren’t any.” When Armie looks back at him, eyebrow quirked in confusion, Timmy explains. “Condoms. I already looked. I don’t know if Elio never used them or if he just didn’t have enough sex to warrant buying them, but I looked all over and didn’t find any.”

The new information is a splash of cold water over his head as he considers what to do next. The only person he’s ever been with without a condom was Elizabeth, and that was even after they were already married. He knows he’s clean and he has no reason to think Timmy isn’t the same, but it’s always a risk, and one not to be taken lightly.

Timmy seems to understand his dilemma and gives him the time to work it out in his head without pushing, simply laying a gentle hand on his upper thigh and rubbing his thumb in slow circles until Armie looks back up at him with questioning eyes. “Are you ok with this?” At Timmy’s nod, he lets out a low breath. “I can pull out before…if you want.”

He feels Timmy’s hand squeeze his thigh in reassurance. “Armie, it’s ok. I want you. All of you. I trust you.”

Emotion bubbles up from his chest and he has to swallow back the sob that threatens to break loose from his throat at the level of trust Timmy is offering up to him with such ease. If the roles were reversed, he’s not sure he’d be able to do the same, but he’s always known Timmy was the rare kind of person who throws himself completely into things, no holds barred. It’s exhilarating and terrifying to be the one on the receiving end of it, but he wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything in the world.

With one last deep breath, he nods, and Timmy’s fingers loosen the grip on his thigh, moving up to lightly scratch at his chest for a second before dropping to the mattress and waiting for Armie to make the next move.

Armie retrieves the bottle of lube and slicks himself up, hissing slightly at the feel of his hand on his cock that has been steadily dripping precome for a while and is already aching for release. Once he’s sure he’s slick enough, he brings his hand down to Timmy’s entrance to find that it is, in fact, already stretched and wet from the lube Timmy used earlier.

He takes pleasure in the way Timmy practically mewls when his finger touches him, and he rubs gentle circles around the outside to make it a little easier for him going in. But apparently he takes too long with it, because after a few seconds he hears an exasperated huff coming from above him.

As tempted as he is to tease Timmy, he’s already pretty impatient himself. They can explore the effects of teasing another time. Getting into position, he waits until Timmy meets his gaze, eyes blown wide and face completely flushed. “Ready?”

Timmy nods vigorously, and that’s all the answer he needs before he pushes in slowly. He watches Timmy’s face for any sign of pain or discomfort, but thankfully all he sees is the look of utter bliss reflected back at him. He’s sure his face must be a mirror image, the feeling of entering Timmy’s tight heat is almost too much, and he has to concentrate on not blowing his load right then.

Once he’s fully seated inside him, Timmy’s legs wrap around his waist and he makes a whining sound that Armie assumes means he wants him to move. So he does, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. So much tighter than he ever expected, but in the most delicious way that makes every thrust feel like his entire body is on fire.

Leaning down to hover over Timmy, he braces himself on his arms as Timmy leans up to capture his lips in a searing kiss. His hips falter for a minute as he finds the right balance between thrusting and kissing, but eventually they find a groove that works and soon they are both sweaty and panting, their pleasure building every second.

Timmy’s orgasm takes them both by surprise, Timmy biting down on Armie’s lower lip hard as he shoots between them, come spurting onto his stomach in a thick, sticky mess. The spasms from Timmy’s climax squeezing around Armie’s cock makes him lose his last shred of control, and he speeds up his thrusts, only getting another few in before he tips over the edge and freezes, pumping his come deep inside Timmy with a stifled grunt.

When he manages to come down, he rolls off Timmy, careful to pull out slowly so he doesn’t hurt him. Timmy has his eyes closed but his mouth is open in a blissful smile, trying to catch his breath. Armie takes the opportunity to really look at Timmy, in all his sweaty, flushed, post-orgasm glory. He thinks it’s the most beautiful Timmy has ever looked, and his chest tightens with emotions that he isn’t ready to name, but he most definitely feels.

After a minute, Timmy opens his eyes and rolls his head to the side, catching Armie staring at him. “What?” It comes out in a breathy, amused tone, clearly enjoying the attention but not wanting to admit it.

“Nothing.”

Timmy’s smirk gets wider as he rolls his head back to face the ceiling again and his eyes slide closed once more. “Uh huh.”

Armie snorts, loving the way they can go right back to their easy banter after literally just fucking their brains out. It’s more than he could have ever hoped for when they got dropped into this crazy world.

Armie, having a bit more meticulous cleanliness tendencies than apparently either Elio or Oliver, eventually rolls off the bed in search of a towel to clean them up properly. They do forgo the shower, however, both too tired to stand for long enough to get washed off and dried again. 

They don’t really talk afterward, but not from awkwardness, just because there isn’t really a need. They’ve long since surpassed the need for words in most instances, and now that they’ve crossed into yet another level of intimacy, the silence is almost more comfortable than anything they could try to say after what they just experienced together. He falls asleep with Timmy curled into his side and a warmth in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

He wakes a couple hours later to the feel of Timmy nuzzling into his neck, pressing tiny kisses just below his Adam’s apple. He lets out a low hum, and he can feel the way Timmy’s lips twitch up into a smile against his skin.

His fingers drag over the smooth skin of Timmy’s shoulders in a lazy pattern until Timmy pulls back enough to meet his eyes. “Hi.”

Armie can’t hold back the happy grin at Timmy’s quiet voice. “Hi yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you. Though I can’t say I’m terribly sorry I did.” Timmy gives a cheeky grin and Armie huffs in amusement.

Timmy leans in and presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving back again. They don’t speak for long minutes, content to just gaze at each other and bask in the feeling of lying there together. It’s not unfamiliar, having spent several days lying naked in bed during filming. But despite the perceived intimacy of that act, there were still several other people in the room, watching them, making random chitchat and cracking jokes between takes. Now it’s only them, no cameras, no characters to hide behind. Just Armie and Timmy, and he’s never felt so safe with anyone in his entire life.

He remembers that there’s another, rather important element to the midnight scene that he feels a little silly bringing up in the moment, but in the interest of wanting to stay as close to the script as possible, he decides to just go with it.

“Call me by your name, and I’ll call you by mine.”

It seems to catch Timmy off guard, having left Elio and Oliver behind hours ago and obviously not intending to bring them back yet. He lets out an incredulous snort and raises an eyebrow. “Are you fucking serious?”

Armie rolls his eyes affectionately and gives a half-shrug. “Just humor me.”

Timmy answers with his own eyeroll and hides his face in Armie’s chest for a few seconds before pulling back again, a faux put-upon look on his face. “Ok _fine_.” He’s quiet for a beat before he looks into Armie’s eyes and murmurs lowly, “Elio.”

A slow smile spreads over Armie’s face as he answers, “Oliver.”

A giggle lets loose from Timmy’s lips before the next, “Elio.”

“Armie.”

The name passes through his lips as easy as breathing, and it’s only in the seconds after he hears his own name, and not Oliver’s, that he realizes just how much he means it.

Timmy’s giggling cuts off abruptly, eyes wide as he searches Armie’s for understanding. Holding Timmy’s gaze steady and inhaling deeply, he discovers he has no desire to take it back or explain it away. So when he speaks again, he makes sure there’s no room for misinterpretation. “Armie.” It’s barely above a whisper, but he feels Timmy shudder when he says it, can see in his eyes that he understand Armie’s meaning.

There’s a long beat where neither of them say anything, the only sound is their ragged breaths mixing together in the narrow space between them. Finally, and ever-so-carefully, Timmy reaches a hand out to caress the side of Armie’s cheek. “Timmy.”

He thinks his heart might actually burst out of his chest at hearing Timmy calling him by his own name, something he never truly understood the power in until that very moment.

They go back and forth another couple of times, making sure they both are clear in what it means before Timmy rolls them over and trails kisses down Armie’s body until, without warning, he swallows his cock down as far as he can without choking. Armie has to bite his own fist not to let out the cry of pleasure that’s aching to burst free from his throat, and he’s soon lost to the wet heat of Timmy’s mouth.

It doesn’t take long for his climax to build and come crashing over him, and he makes a mental note to ask Timmy where he learned how to do _that_ with his mouth. Not that he’s complaining in the least. The kid has mad skills, and he is more than happy to be on the receiving end of them.

Armie tries to reciprocate, but Timmy can tell he’s past the point of exhaustion and he doesn’t seem to mind finishing himself off, spurting thick ropes of come all over Armie’s chest before collapsing onto the mattress beside him with a tired, but sated, sigh.

His scruples about cleaning are no match for his complete and total bonelessness, and he fumbles around until he finds Billowy and swipes at himself until the worst of the mess is gone and he throws it down again.

He feels the pull of sleep almost immediately; the mental exhaustion of everything leading up to this day coupled with the physical exertion of not one, but two rounds of sex in a short time – which, admittedly, it’s been a while since the last time he’s done that – proving to be too much to stay awake longer than the time it takes to gather Timmy in his arms and press a messy kiss to his temple. And then just like that, he’s out cold.

He wakes again as the first light of dawn crests over the horizon. Timmy is still sound asleep in his arms, and he has no desire to wake him just yet, content to just lie there pressed closely to him and feel the way his chest moves with every intake of breath.

A sense of calm and peace flows through him as he thinks back to the previous night, sharing a part of himself with Timmy that no one else has ever had. It’s like a weight he hadn’t even known had been there has suddenly lifted from his shoulders, and he feels lighter than he can ever remember before.

Timmy stirs in his sleep, face twisting into a grimace for a brief moment and letting out a small sigh before settling again, shuffling the tiniest bit closer into Armie’s warmth. Armie’s heart bursts with affection as he looks down at the image of Timmy cradled in his arms, his face so serene that he reminds him of a child, without a care in the world.

But Armie has never been one to allow himself to be truly happy for long, and the more he looks down at Timmy and _wants_ , the more fear and self-doubt find a way to creep into his thoughts and make him question everything.

They had an amazing night together, but he can’t help the thought that maybe Timmy will regret it, or that he will decide Armie isn’t worth risking everything he could lose in their real life if this goes any further. Or, like Elio, he will feel disgusted by the whole thing and pull away from him, and he will have ruined the best friendship he’s ever known.

He’s caught in this cycle of swirling doubt for another couple of hours until Timmy finally begins to wake in earnest. When Timmy’s eyes finally slide open, Armie’s heart stutters in his chest and he stops breathing, completely frozen as he waits to feel the fallout of their night together.

But when Timmy turns his face and looks up at him with a sleepy smile, it’s all he can do to keep himself from crying with relief. “Morning.” Timmy’s sleep-rough voice is somehow even more adorable than he expected it to be, and he can only manage a slight smile in response, not trusting his voice right then.

Timmy seems to take it the opposite way though, because his own smiles falters and he angles himself up onto one elbow to be able to face Armie more head-on. “What’s going on?”

Armie isn’t sure how to answer, part of him wanting to be honest, while the other part wants to say whatever will bring back the light in Timmy’s eyes that was just there a few seconds before.

“Armie? Please talk to me.”

“I…nothing. Everything’s fine. I just…are _you_ …ok? You’re, ya know, happy?”

A look of dawning realization crosses Timmy’s face, and he lets out a relieved sigh as his lips twitch up in a fond smile. “Fuck, Armie, did you really think I would regret what happened last night?”

Damn Timmy and his power of perceptiveness. He knows he’s been caught out, but he still only gives a non-committal shrug in answer, trying not to give away just how much he really does fear exactly that.

A snort of incredulous laughter emanates from beside him. “Jesus, you really are a dumbass, aren’t you?” More laughter, and this time he can’t help but be a little offended.

“Hey!”

Timmy’s laughter only intensifies with his indignation, and when Armie smacks his shoulder in annoyance, Timmy devolves into honest-to-goodness guffaws.

“I’m sorry, but you are a dumbass if you thought for one minute I could ever regret sleeping with you.”

He wants to feel offended, but somewhere in the back of his head, it pings what Timmy is actually telling him, and somehow that outweighs the irritation of being mocked for his fears. Still, he isn’t about to give him the satisfaction of giving in so easily.

“It’s really not that crazy an idea, ya know. It’s how Elio felt after their first night together, so yeah, I thought maybe…I dunno. Whatever.”

Timmy seems to sense that his teasing went a bit too far, and he scoots back to be closer to Armie again, running a hand up through his chest hair and back down. “Weren’t you the one just last night saying that we weren’t Elio and Oliver?”

Fuck, but he had a point, and he couldn’t deny it. “Yes.”

“And you’re right, we’re not them, and even though we’re technically living in their world, we don’t have to _be_ them in every way. I wouldn’t want to. Elio is a little too neurotic for my tastes.”

Armie can’t hold back the snort at that. “No, but you did sleep with Marzia…” It’s something he hadn’t planned to ever bring up, but somehow he couldn’t hold it in any longer, now that they’ve come to this point with everything. It just adds another layer of doubt and questioning to everything else, and now seems like the time to address it if he’s ever going to.

Timmy stills beside him, and is oddly quiet for a minute. He fears maybe he went too far, that this subject was out of bounds even for them, and he desperately wishes he could take it back.

“Actually, I didn’t.”

Those are not the words he was expecting to hear, and in fact, they don’t make any sense to him at all. “What?”

“I didn’t. Sleep with Marzia, I mean.”

Utter confusion washes over him as he tries to figure out what Timmy is getting at. “What the fuck are you talking about? We didn’t end up starting the day over again, and the only way that would have happened is if –“

“No, not the _only_ way.”

“ _What_?”

Timmy lets out a long sigh and sits up, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions as a result. “I found a loophole. I guess, I dunno.”

Not understanding a word Timmy is saying, all he can do is raise an eyebrow in question and wait for him to explain further.

“Ok, so look, I was very not ok with having to sleep with some girl I barely know and am not into in that way. But I knew I had to do _something_ , or else we would keep repeating the day over again. So…I tried something. I wasn’t sure it would even work, but I figured if it didn’t, we could just go back and do it again and then we’d know for sure.”

“What exactly did you do?”

Timmy bites at his lip for a minute before answering. “I um…used my hands. I got her off first, then took care of myself. She was a little disappointed but I just told her I wasn’t ready and she respected it. And she seemed to enjoy what we did, so…” Timmy trails off, a blush creeping up the side of his face.

Armie tries to make sense of what Timmy is telling him, but he’s still not sure what any of it means. “Wait, so you’re telling me you fingered her and then jacked yourself off, and that was enough for whatever the fucking crazy rules are in this messed up world for us to move forward in time? Even though you didn’t actually sleep with her?”

Timmy shrugs, clearly no more sure about any of this than he is. “I guess. I dunno, I woke up the next morning and we hadn’t gone back in time, so I figured it had worked and I didn’t need to feel bad or guilty. I didn’t even have to remove our clothes, so maybe it was more about the emotional connection of sex than the actual act? I have no idea man, but I have never been so happy to _not_ have to sleep with someone before.”

Armie sits with this new information for several beats. Suddenly the words in Timmy’s note and the happy gleam in his eye when he saw him that morning make a lot more sense, and a rush of relief floods through him. But before he lets himself breathe too easy, another thought forms in his head and he can’t stop himself from asking. “So then what did you do yesterday, in the attic?”

A fresh blush blossoms over Timmy’s entire face, this one even deeper than the last. “I um…did what was in the script.”

He probably shouldn’t feel the sting of jealousy, given everything Timmy just told him and the fact that he had also been the recipient of his amazing oral skills, but he can’t help it. “You ate her out?”

Timmy squirms on the bed for a second before nodding, eyes not meeting his. “I didn’t really see a way out of that one, and I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. But it wasn’t really all that bad. I don’t mind giving pleasure that way. I just wanted control over my own body, which I had.”

Despite the feeling of unease growing in his stomach, he knows he can’t really argue with anything Timmy said. He was smart enough to cheat the system to not mess too much with the timeline and still not be forced into something he didn’t want. And as he lets that information sink in, he’s also forced to acknowledge that what they had done together last night must have been Timmy’s own choice, or else he would have already known they could get around it another way.

There’s a rollercoaster of emotions running through him as he tries to make sense of the entire situation. It’s definitely better than he had thought originally, but he still can’t shake the feeling that maybe Timmy isn’t as into this as he is.

And of course Timmy senses this, because he reaches out to grab Armie’s hand in his. “You’re not upset with me about this, are you?”

The truth is, he’s not. But he’s not sure how to express what he _is_ feeling. “No. Not upset. Just…unsure. Or rather, I want _you_ to be sure. You know, that this, me, _us_ , is what you really want. And not some girl who will make it so much easier for you to live the way you want, someone who can make you happier than I can.”

He suddenly finds himself flat on his back as Timmy tackles him back onto the bed, half crawling on top of him to keep him from moving. “Do I have to call you a dumbass again? Of course, I want this. I want _you_. Elio didn’t know what the fuck he wanted, but I have never had any doubt. And that isn’t going to change, so please get it through your head so we can stop arguing about this and spend our time fucking instead.”

Timmy smirks down at him, eyes full of affection and happiness, and it seems to be the perfect combination to make him truly believe what he’s saying and accept that Timmy is all in. He nods his agreement, a slow smile creeping onto his face as he brushes a rogue curl out of Timmy’s eyes. “Ok, you win.”

“Good.” Before he even knows what is happening, Timmy is situating himself fully on top of him and stroking his cock to life behind him, making Armie let out an obscene moan. He almost doesn’t care if anyone heard him, but he shoves a pillow in his mouth anyway, just as Timmy sinks down effortlessly onto his now fully erect cock, his hole still holding most of the stretch and slickness from the previous evening, easing the way for him as he fucks himself on Armie’s dick. It’s one of the most sinful sights Armie has ever seen, and he can’t believe his luck to have this gorgeous creature writhing above him like it was what he was made for. Maybe he was.

When it’s over and they are all but spent, they decide that a dip in the river sounds like an excellent way to wash off all the sweat and come they have accumulated over the past several hours.

But unlike Elio and Oliver, they stay close together, never moving more than a few feet away from each other, taking advantage of the peaceful morning and trading slow, wet kisses until their skin turns wrinkly.

As tempted as he is have them shower together, he knows it’s already pretty late in the morning, and he needs to get down to breakfast. He gives Timmy a quick clandestine kiss before making his way out and joining Samuel and Annella, who are already seated and just beginning their meal. Mafalda brings him his eggs and he tries not to look too freshly fucked, even though he’s well aware that they both know what’s going on anyway.

When Timmy joins them a little while later, he catches Armie’s eye and winks, and Armie almost chokes on his piece of toast. He’s so distracted that he completely forgets he’s supposed to be leaving to go into town, so when Timmy clears his throat and looks at him pointedly, he stutters out his excuses to Professor Perlman and fumbles out of his chair. He catches Timmy trying to hold in a laugh out of the corner of his eye, and he makes a mental note to get him back for that later.

He feels like a brand new man as he rides into town, giddiness bubbling up in his chest in a way he hasn’t felt in many years. An idea strikes him as he’s approaching the town square, and he quickly runs his errand the pick up his mail and then moves to stand in a narrow alleyway between two buildings, knowing that Timmy will be following behind him any minute.

Sure enough, a couple minutes later, he sees Timmy ride past, on his way to the post office to find him. He waits, watches as Timmy looks around, confused as to why he isn’t where he should be.

And just as Timmy passes by the alleyway, Armie reaches one long arm out and grabs him, pulling him a few feet down so they aren’t easily spotted and pinning him to the wall of one of the buildings. Before Timmy has enough time to properly protest or even ask what’s going on, he captures his mouth in a heated kiss.

Timmy puts up a fight for about 0.5 seconds before he melts into the kiss, grabbing at his shirt to pull him even closer. They stay like that for a long minute, kissing passionately, tucked away in a quiet corner all for themselves.

Finally, Armie breaks the kiss and pulls back, but he doesn’t move far enough for Timmy to go anywhere just yet. After a few seconds of looking dazed and happy, Timmy seems to remember where they are, and when.

“Jesus, Armie, we can’t do this here. Not now. Do you know what will happen if someone catches us?”

But Armie is nonplussed, too wrapped up in his own happiness to care about the rest of it. “Eh, so we spend a few hours in the local jail with a few nice Italian drunkards, and then in the morning we wake up and start the day over again, free and fresh.”

Timmy is just about to protest when Armie sees the realization dawning on him, and he’s more than a little amused to see him actually considering his proposal. But alas, Timmy is still a bit more cautious and level-headed than he would prefer. “Still, I’d rather not go through the hassle if you don’t mind. You may be the “sexiest risk taker” in our world, but here, the risks are more extreme and we don’t know all of the consequences.”

He can’t really argue Timmy’s point, even though he wants to. But instead, he relents and moves back far enough so that Timmy can squeeze out from between him and the wall. But before he can go too far, Armie grabs his hand and pulls him back. “Hey, I know you had to because of the story and all, but I’m really glad you followed me.”

Timmy’s head quirks to the side in bemusement, the edges of his lips twisting up in a small smile. “Don’t you know yet? I’d follow you anywhere, Armie.”

Armie’s face breaks out in a real, genuine smile, warmth spreading from his chest through his whole body. “I’m starting to get that.”

Timmy’s smile widens and he can see the relief in his eyes. “Good.” There’s a squeeze to his fingers and then Timmy pulls away, making his way back out on the street. Armie sighs and leans back against the wall for a minute, trying to reign in his emotions that are spilling out all over the place. 

He’s just about to push off from the wall and make his way back when he’s suddenly being crushed back against it, Timmy’s mouth ravaging his own for a few brief seconds of intense passion before he’s gone again, giggling as turns to grab his bike from where he’d left it leaning at the entrance to the alley and pedaling away with a wide grin on his mouth.

Armie can’t help but laugh and shake his head in amusement. He gathers his things and starts back himself. Just before he climbs onto the bike, he pauses, his heart beating fast and his whole body buzzing with happiness. He is, and he’s finally ready to admit it now, in love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both are struggling with what staying in this time and place permanently might mean for each of them and them together. What goes unspoken is that as long as this tour has been, it will eventually come to an end. And then what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting. I was without power for over twelve hours which, during quarantine, was an experience. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my co-author lfg1986 for both her support, always, and for her inspiration for part of this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos - they keep the creative fires burning brightly. I hope you each remain safe and well.

The days fall in line, like obedient foot soldiers. Elio has become nearly as good an actor as Timothee. He remains engaged and enthusiastic as they continue their globe-trotting press tour but Oliver can see the edges begin to fray when they are behind closed doors.

The hotel room door will close and Elio will fall, head first, into Oliver’s chest. They both are struggling with what staying in this time and place permanently might mean for each of them and them together. What goes unspoken is that as long as this tour has been, it will eventually come to an end. And then what?

Technology has made keeping in touch easier than either of them might have imagined but the truth remains that Armie has a wife and children in Los Angeles and Timothee has his family and life in New York City. Will they have gone through all of this just for Oliver to leave Elio for a woman, only this time without the comfort and wise guidance of his father, the warmth of his mother, and a future he might have imagined for himself before this summer?

As prepared as Oliver was to hurt Elio, hoping against hope that the hurt would be temporary and give way to an even better future, although he has now accepted that the pain he would have caused would have been deeper and more lasting than he could have ever anticipated (he knows this now, he does, he is able to hold it more steadily in his hands and heart with every passing day) - as prepared as he was to do that, nothing in this world can soften for him the prospect of leaving Elio like this.  
But until then, they have each other and the press tour.

They are asked if they are sick of each other. Oliver feels more and more at ease, a sense of humor he didn’t realize he had starts to shine through the cracks that have appeared as the stress has worn him down. Oliver is able to speak truthfully about the press tour as a time to spend with people he loves and admires. He does not mention to anyone he is dreading the end of the press tour. Not even to Elio; they have an unspoken agreement to ignore that looming deadline.

That word also remains unspoken. It gets thrown around in the press tour where the lines between Elio and Oliver and Timothee and Armie blur and bleed. But they do not say they love each other when the doors are closed and it is clear who each of them are. Oliver knows love is a verb, it is an action, a promise, and he does not yet know if he can fulfill the commitment he would speak into existence. He knows he loves Elio and he feels certain (on his best days, on his best days he feels certain, on other days it feels like a delicate balancing act of weighing the evidence against his emotions) Elio loves him in return. But just as they do not speak about the impending end of their time together, just as they did not in Italy, they do not speak this promise into existence. Not yet.

And he tries to feel worthy of Elio’s love. Ever the classics scholar, he reminds himself that humility derives from _humilitas_ which is Latin for “of the earth.” To be humble is to remain grounded, to know himself, even the parts he has long buried, kept hidden from everyone, himself most of all. These are the parts that allow him to love Elio back, he must recognize them as the roots they are, holding him to terra firma, allowing him to grow more into himself than he ever has been. And with knowing himself, he knows he has a responsibility, to become what he was meant to be. He is starting to believe that loved by Elio is what he was meant to be.

And as he grows stronger in knowledge of himself, he listens to Elio and dives ever deeper into the desire to know him, know all of him. Elio calls him an “enormous man” and Oliver is able to ask if, as he has long feared, “Am I too big?” and by that he means “Am I too much?” He does not need to translate, Elio, fluent in so many languages, seems to also speak Oliver, his accent as perfect as when he pronounces Timothee Chalamet.

“You are as big as the entire universe and just big enough that when you hold me I feel safe but not small,” Elio responds, pulling Oliver closer like a blanket.

Elio says, “Experience is the greatest teacher” and Oliver asks, “What lessons did you learn this summer?”

And Elio responds by kissing Oliver a prince’s kiss, one that saves them both and ensures them a happy ending. And by that he means, “In knowing you, I learned about myself. In being with you, something fell into place. I had a hunch, I guessed something was wrong, that everything was supposed to be more beautiful than it was, and then I met you.”

Oliver asks, “Who else are your teachers?”

And Elio cries, missing his father, his last words of advice to him only conveyed through the film.

And Oliver reflects his time with Pro in his study, learning not only about antiquities, but also about life. In a moment of bravery, as he and Elio were learning that what they had thought they had seen in the others’ eyes was not the sparkle off the water of the pool but in fact the same longing. The realization that the object of your affect wants you just as much, what an intoxicating feeling.

Oliver recalls that day and Pro saying, “Not a straight body in these statues. They’re all curved. Sometimes impossibly curved. And so nonchalant. Hence their ageless ambiguity. As if they’re daring you to desire them.”

And emboldened for a moment by what had occurred and what was to come, Oliver shed his fear, like the Serpent in the Garden, inching Man ever closer to Knowledge, asking, “What if you did? Desire them?”

And now Oliver can pass along the gift he was given that day, to the one who deserves it far more than he does. He is able to give Elio another moment with his father, another lesson. He recalls for Elio Pro turning toward him, exhaling smoke from his ever-present cigarette, his easy genial smile on his face, “Well, that’s when life gets more interesting. To challenge what’s expected and give into your true nature…there’s nothing more divine.”

And Elio weeps and Oliver knows he can only hold him. Tears of joy that his father has given them his blessing and tears of sadness at only hearing of it secondhand. It feels like a funeral, at once a celebration of life and a mourning, but Oliver is uncertain who has died.

Oliver holds him as he weeps and learns a new lesson. Experience is the greatest teacher and as he sees Elio cry, as he has seen him cry, he realizes he is once again shedding the lessons of his youth. There had been punishment for tears, for emotion, for anything less than stoic masculinity. Sensitive had been a slur his father used when he meant effeminate, when he meant queer. Sensitive as though that were a thing to be feared, a dragon needing slaying. He has long buried his sensitivity with the rest of himself. He longed to be brave, to slay the dragon with its never-ending threat to expose his true nature. And, yet, he admires Elio. Admires and loves him as he has said to others as Armie talking about Timothee. In his admiration he learns, the opposite of sensitive is not brave. The opposite of sensitive is insensitive. His longing to kill his emotions is a longing to become like the school yard bullies themselves, his first target, his only target thus far, himself. That is no badge of honor.

There is honor in vulnerability. There is honor in humility. Oliver is learning these lessons. Becoming brave and courageous, as parallels to vulnerable and humble.

Oliver as Armie discusses the “hero’s journey” and how this experience taught him so much about himself. A hero must be brave, must have honor. He is learning, with Elio as his guide, to recognize his feelings, allow them to be, not fight them as the enemy. He feels the fight leave him, exhaustion in its wake, and experiences that in allowing his emotions, like waves, they carry him to shore, rather than staying lost out at sea, struggling to move against the current, the salt water finding its way into his nose and mouth, killing him from the inside if he doesn’t exhaust himself first.

Elio talks about their bond and Armie can tell the shift from Timothee to Elio when he describes their meeting as being random luck of the universe. And Oliver agrees, noting how often actors must indeed act. And he speaks of himself here, knowing that had Fate dealt him a different hand, the card player he is would have had to bluff his way through this summer much as he did with the rest of his life. Instead he spent much of the summer acting in a very different sort of way, trying to conceal his growing feelings of lust, yes, but genuine enjoyment of Elio, uncertain of his reaction to the signs he tried to send. Oliver can joke with Elio now that his signs were perhaps too subtle. A shoulder squeeze after all? He's never really tried to send out that type of message and hope the recipient receives it, understands it, and, at the very least, is not disgusted by the sender. He’s never really had to.

It is the random luck of the universe but here they find themselves in a love story. The type poetry is written about, wars are fought for, movies are made of. People spend a lifetime trying to chase this and they have it and it increasingly seems the keeping of it is out of their control.

He recalls the day when he was waiting for what is now called “the midnight scene.” He had gone to the berm to wait. He had felt ripped in two that day. One part of him high-flying in memory of their kiss at that very spot and in anticipation of what was surely to come. He felt giddy with desire to consume Elio, to absorb him into himself, to mark him as his own and be marked by him in return. To feel a belonging he had never before felt. To experience it all with someone like Elio, someone he would have never thought himself worthy of. And by that same token, part of him was melancholy. Sure and certain one of them would have to pay the price for this decision. Hoping that a bloody nose was the only injury Elio would suffer and the price extracted would be from him. He would happily pay a hefty ransom, pay that debt with years from the future, if he could be given this present, this moment. He kept his mind away from the end of summer, from his inevitable journey away from this place. Wanting to keep it from polluting the unexpected gift he had received. Please, he had thought, let this summer, let him, remain pure and good. Don’t allow me to ruin him with my lust, my love, don’t allow me to ruin this one moment in time with thoughts of home-which-was-never-home and someone else who was never a lover.

He knows, he is honest with himself, he never considered keeping Elio. As if Elio was a thing to be kept. Of staying. Or of inviting Elio with him. He is too young, it is too much to ask. And, above all else, Oliver was not brave enough, is not courageous enough. Was not brave or courageous then. Their time would end, it was inevitable. Is it still?

Oliver thinks of an interview he gave in which he said, “I loved that the only antagonist in this film is time. Because their time will end and they know it, and that’s it.” He knows how remarkable it is to have a film about two men in love, two men vulnerable with each other, in which neither dies of disease, is killed, or takes his own life. It is remarkable but not enough.

The random luck of the universe is remarkable but not enough. He allows his feelings, his grief at being given this but not more, bubbling up and spilling over. Held by Elio, safe, but not small. Their emotions are as vast as the universe and protected in the smallest space between their embrace.

Elio talks about nostalgia as it colors the film, their summer together. And Oliver considers what has been a wistful affection for the past, which is not past yet. But their time will end and they know it.

Oliver discusses the end of filming and “wanting to seize a last moment of joy” and tries to remain present and enjoy this time with Elio. He does not want the future to cast a shade on their bright joy. Much as he did not that day waiting for midnight on the berm.

And yet that shade grows with passing time, as the sun, carried by a God and his Chariot, makes its inevitable journey across the sky. And Oliver feels his desperation grow and he feels Elio’s desperation grow, vines winding their way up, twisting together, trapping them.

He feels it seep into their lovemaking. He pushes into Elio slowly, wanting to imprint the drag, the feeling of his tight heat on his cock, on his soul, as Elio digs his heels into Oliver’s back, tightening around his waist, pulling him in faster. Begging him to move, faster, harder, wanting to feel it tomorrow, the next day, hoping he will feel him forever. They cling to each other, Oliver fighting twin desires to give Elio what he wants and not wanting to allow enough space between them to allow his thrusts to be anything but short and deep. Elio reaches between them, his fingers trailing his rim, the point where they are joined, the point where they become whole. Oliver fingers join Elio’s, marveling at how Elio’s body opens to him, invites him in, welcomes him. He is home. Elio refuses to touch himself, wants to prolong their love-making, staves off his orgasm. They gently rock together until they feel like they might fly apart into a million fragments. Oliver imagines they do, Elio’s clenching around Oliver as he comes, pushing Oliver over the edge. A million fragments, impossible to pick up and sort perfectly, mixed together, pieces of Elio fitted into places in Oliver and Oliver’s pieces puzzled together into Elio.

He collapses onto Elio, once more blanketing him. Elio holds him against himself, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. They are heedless of the mess between them, falling asleep still joined, only separating when Oliver softens and falls out of Elio. Still, they sleep entangled with each other, a four-legged, four-armed being, whole.

Oliver still wakes with the sun, in every different city, with every time zone change. He returns to his room, not ready to hurt anyone, not ready to make any decisions.

They joke in response to questions about a sequel. For how can there be a movie about a future they have not yet lived?

He is not ready to make a decision but the desperation is there. He is intelligent. He believes there must be a way out. A way to cheat the system. He has never cheated before, honest to a fault. Yes, he acts his way through life, has lied to everyone about who he really is, has tried to lie to himself, but, he reflects on a quote he read during his research, “It’s not lying if they make you lie. If the only truth they can accept is their own.” He has never cheated, never lied when given the opportunity to be honest.

His desperation makes him feel pathetic. It is so terribly pathetic to want something so badly, that he’s willing to cheat for it. But he is and he would.

He is desperate to cheat the system. Desperate to find a wrinkle in whatever it was that brought them here. He does not understand the purpose otherwise. If he can just figure out the logic, the reason, the rationale, he could figure out a way to… he does not know how to finish that sentence. Would he take them back to their time and place or find a way to stay here and be together?

But until then, they have each other and the press tour.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy discovers a new perspective on the peach scene, and his blossoming relationship with Armie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey guys! Sorry this update is a tad late. I actually finished writing it last night but was too wiped to do the editing/posting before I crashed for the night. But here ya go! This one is MUCH shorter than my last one, but I think it packs just as much as an emotional punch. Or at least I hope so. ;)
> 
> I can't believe we're coming close to the end of the story now. The way we've set it up, there should be 16 chapters total, though I haven't officially marked it yet just in case something changes last minute, but for now, that is the plan. So I really hope you enjoy the last few chapters we have for you, and that the way we chose to wrap it all up can be as satisfying for you all as it is for us. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with us through the changeover and reposts of earlier chapters, it means so much to have such amazing and loyal readers supporting us and giving us the motivation to keep going. Your comments/kudos/love are everything. <333
> 
> And now...on to the peach scene! ;D

Sitting down on the old, lumpy mattress in the attic, a peach in each of his hands, Timmy feels a little ridiculous. He’s not exactly hungry, too giddy from the past several hours to want to eat anything. He sets both peaches on the small table beside him and stretches out on his back on the mattress.

He idly wonders just how important it is to the story that he actually jerk off into the peach, and if he didn’t go through with it, if they would wake up back in this morning again and get to relive this day over again. The idea isn’t exactly unappealing. He’d give anything to capture the feeling he has right now and have it with him always.

But despite the temptation, he knows they shouldn’t mess too much with the timeline if possible, still not sure of the full ramifications of not acting the story out properly. Maybe there’s only so many chances to get it right, and then something else, maybe far worse, happens. It’s something he’s not really eager to find out if he can help it.

Turning his head over to look at the peaches sitting next to him, he considers his options. Despite the entire situation feeling silly, at least the pressure to perform and get the visual aspect of things right isn’t present like it was during filming. It frees up his mind to consider other parts of the act and the real meaning behind it.

When he’d tried it before in preparation for the role of Elio, he was 18 and was simply curious to see if it would actually work and if it was worth the mess. He’d put his dick in many experimental places over his teenage years, but fruit hadn’t been one of them up until that point. It had been enjoyable enough, but not something he really gave much thought to as a practical means of self-pleasure outside of that singular experiment. And of course, when he filmed the movie, he hadn’t actually put the peach on his dick, but it was decidedly less fun when he was still left with the sticky juice all over him and not even an orgasm to make up for it.

With a resigned sigh, he reaches over and picks up one of the peaches, brings it to his face to rub the soft fuzz over his lips as he tries to find the right headspace. First, he turns to Elio, trying to lean into the character that he’s come to think of as part of himself over the years. He thinks back to all the conversations with Luca he’s had about this scene, about what Andre was trying to convey with it in the book and where they had to play it more visually for the movie. He’d even had a couple of talks with Armie about it, about Elio’s indecision about who he might be envisioning during the process and how it made him choosing Oliver in the end even more poignant.

And that’s where he finds the one major disconnect between himself and Elio. They are alike in many ways, but where Elio, at least book Elio, had been trying to figure out what he wanted through his experiment with the peach, Timmy has always known what, and whom, he wanted.

Naturally, his thoughts drift to Armie, and everything that has happened in the past few days. It still doesn’t seem real that less than 24 hours ago, Armie was inside him, giving him such exquisite pleasure that he’s never known before, and then, taking inspiration from Oliver, calling Timmy by his own name in an act that he can only describe as love. 

It’s a feeling he’s grown very accustomed to when it comes to Armie, but he hadn’t ever really considered what it would feel like to have it reciprocated in the same way. It wasn’t something he ever let himself think about in any real sense, an attempt to lessen the pain of wanting someone unattainable in such an intense way. It had been why he’d decided to put a bit of distance between himself and Armie as the promo tour came to an end, realizing a bit too late at how deeply he had already fallen and knowing that trying to maintain the same type of relationship with Armie from an entire continent away would break him.

But it turns out to have all been in vain, and, much to his surprise, completely unnecessary. And now he knows what it feels like to have Armie moving inside him, knows the sounds he makes in the height of pleasure, knows the tangy taste of that pleasure as it shoots long and thick into his mouth. It’s not something he’s likely to forget in a thousand lifetimes, no matter what else happens between them, or doesn’t.

The memory of Armie’s thick cock on his tongue, the heavy weight of it and the slightly musky scent of pure _Armie_ that overwhelmed his scenes when he inhaled has his cock rapidly filling out in his shorts. Taking a deep breath, he unbuttons the fly with one hand, and then, since this time he’s completely alone in the room and there’s no real need for modesty, decides to yank them down to his knees to give himself a bit more freedom for what he needs to do.

His now mostly hard dick flops against his belly, and the tiniest bit of precum oozes from the tip and leaves a small smear there. Not keen to completely cover himself in the peach juice this time – knowing what a pain it is to get it all off – he leans over the edge of the mattress as he digs his finger into the center of the peach, allowing the worst of the sticky liquid to drip onto the ground below him. He pulls out the pit, and, more conscientious than Elio had been, places it on the small table next to the other peach.

Once the worst of the juice has dripped out, he lays back flat again and closes his eyes, slowly bringing the hand holding the peach down to hover over his cock. As he slides it on, he tries to clear his mind, focusing totally on the wet, squishy feel of the inside of the fruit as it covers the first few sensitive inches. 

He starts with a slow rhythm, careful not to completely wreck the peach before it can fulfill its true purpose for the scene. After a minute, his thoughts return to Armie, how it felt to be so full of him in every way, and how safe and protected he felt wrapped in his arms.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel his orgasm building, and he knows he’s close. As his dick plunges into the center of the peach at an increasing rate, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel Armie’s tight heat around him like this instead. If maybe someday, like Oliver, Armie would let him top, so he could give Armie the same type of intense pleasure that Armie had given him.

That thought proves to be his undoing, and its only seconds later when he lets out a low moan and he’s spilling copious amounts of come into the debauched peach.

Once he can breathe again, he carefully removes the fruit and tries to keep as much of the mess inside as possible as he sets it on the table with a tiny chuckle of amusement over just how ridiculous it is that he has now fully jacked off into a peach twice, and pretended to do it a third time. His life feels more like a movie than real life to him these days.

He wipes as much of the mess off himself as he can then stretches back out with a soft sigh. He can begin to feel the pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavier and his mind floating freely in a post-orgasm haze.

He’s just on the edge of consciousness when he hears soft footfalls on the stairs that he knows can only belong to one person. Keeping his eyes closed, he waits until he senses Armie’s presence in the room, the hairs on his arm standing up in anticipation. As much as he wants to feign sleep to see what Armie will do, the sound of Armie’s breathy chuckle undoes him and his eyes pop open, immediately finding Armie’s in the small room.

“You actually did it, huh?” Armie’s eyes dart over to the soiled peach beside him and his lip twists up in an amused smirk.

Timmy swivels his head to follow Armie’s eyes, surveying the damage he’d inflicted on the poor fruit. Shrugging with one shoulder, he tries not to take the bait. “It’s kind of the whole point of this scene, so not doing it didn’t really seem like an option. Plus, an orgasm is an orgasm, ya know?”

Another chuckle, this one going straight to his dick, which twitches against his stomach despite having just come a few minutes ago. One of the sexiest things about Armie in his opinion has always his voice, and after last night, it seems that he’s even more turned on by the sound of it than he was before.

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” Armie shuffles fully into the room and sits down on the mattress beside him with a wide grin.

Before Timmy can say anything, Armie leans in and plants a gentle kiss on his mouth. Part of him wants to ask Armie why he’s here so early, knowing that this part of the scene really doesn’t take place for another couple of hours, but he’s too busy getting lost in the feel of Armie’s plush lips sucking his own into his mouth to really care.

And then suddenly, Armie’s lips are gone from his, marking a slow trail down his neck and chest, continuing to move down his body, and Timmy suspects he knows where he’s eventually headed. But surprisingly, Armie only gets as far as his belly button before he pulls off with a wet smack of his lips that borders on obscene. He can’t help but let out a tiny frustrated grunt, having been waiting to feel Armie’s lips wrapped around his cock for what feels like an eternity. “Wait, aren’t you gonna – ?“

He cuts himself off when Armie reaches one long arm out and picks up the filled peach, careful not to let anything drip out as he brings it back over in front of his face. “Not just yet. There’s something else I need to do first.”

Timmy freezes, unsure what Armie plans to do. A lump forms in his throat and he stops breathing as he watches Armie stare thoughtfully at the battered fruit in his hand.

“You know, I respect the hell out of Luca and the vision he had for this story, but one thing I could never fully be on board with was how he didn’t let Oliver eat the peach.”

Timmy’s lungs feel like they are on fire, desperate for air but unable to draw any in as he listens to Armie’s words.

“It’s such a huge moment for them in the book, a way for Oliver to prove how serious he is about his feelings for Elio. He doesn’t have many moments to show his side of things, but eating the peach was one of the biggest and most symbolic. I was upset when Luca changed it.”

Despite the intense emotions he’s currently experiencing around the situation as it relates to them in this moment, he can’t disagree with anything Armie is saying. He’d felt the same at the time, as well, but he was a mostly unknown actor with only a handful of minor credits to his name, and hadn’t felt he had any place to question Luca’s decision.

But now, being in the reality of it, he sees the moment in a completely new light. He’s on the edge of passing out when he finally manages to take a huge breath in, his lungs screaming with relief as they fill with blessed air. And just at that moment, he sees Armie’s hand move closer to his mouth, lips parting in what feels like slow motion. An arm shoots out, but instead of coming up to grab the peach out of Armie’s hand, it lands on Armie’s upper thigh, gripping tightly.

“Armie, wait.”

Armie pauses his movement, hand halfway to his mouth, but he doesn’t drop it. He does find Timmy’s eyes, though, and the expression in them is so open and sincere, it almost makes him stop breathing again. Armie waits for him to continue, patient, knowing it’s not easy for him to articulate things this big in the moment.

“You really don’t…don’t have to do this. I get it. The meaning behind the gesture. But really, it’s ok.”

Timmy’s chest aches with so many things he longs to say, but doesn’t know how. And when he sees some of those same things reflected back at him in Armie’s eyes, it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

Armie takes a deep breath in, holding it for a minute before releasing it through his nose and lowering his arm just a little, so Timmy can see his whole face without the peach distracting them.

“I realized something earlier today. Or maybe I’ve always known it, but it was the first time I was ready to accept it as real. You know what that was?” Armie pauses, waits for Timmy to answer, but all he can manage is a jerky shake of his head. “I realized that I love you. That I’m _in_ love with you. And probably have been for a long time. And I’m sorry it took me so long to get here, but right now, all I want to do is prove how much I mean it.”

Armie’s other hand settles gently over Timmy’s where he’s still gripping Armie’s thigh for dear life, his thumb stroking gently over the back’s of Timmy’s knuckles. “I want to eat this peach. But only if you are ok with it. I won’t force the issue like Oliver, but it’s something I want very much.”

Warmth floods through Timmy’s entire body, and all his mind can register is the word “love” coming out of Armie’s mouth. The initial panic and fear he felt fall away and all that’s left is that one word, and the immense feeling that goes with it. And suddenly nothing else in the world matters, only the two of them…and the peach.

He takes a shaky breath in and then gives a tiny nod, which makes Armie’s lip twitch up in a small smile. “I need you to say it, Tim. I want you to be sure.”

Armie’s hand squeezes his a bit tighter, giving him the silent support that Armie has always been so good at. Finally, he somehow finds his voice. “I want you to eat it. Please, Armie.”

The smile that breaks out on Armie’s face is almost blinding, and his heart squeezes so tightly he thinks it might actually break right open and spill out every ounce of love he has for Armie right there. 

Turning his hand over that’s underneath Armie’s, he twines their fingers together and watches in rapt silence as Armie raises his arm again, this time bringing it all the way to his lips. But then he pauses, waits until Timmy raises his eyes to meet his own before taking a generous bite into the side of the peach where his semen was starting to slowly ooze out from the opening where he’d fucked into it.

He’s pretty sure the entire world freezes around them for the time it takes for Armie to eat the entire peach. He isn’t even sure if he’s even still breathing until, when Armie ingests the last bite, face sticky and smeared with the remnants of peach juice and his come, he takes a huge breath in just before he lunges at Armie’s mouth, desperate to taste himself on Armie’s tongue, the two of them forever intertwined in his mind and heart.

Armie seems to welcome the onslaught, bringing his now free hand up to the back of Timmy’s head to hold him tighter, their tongues twisting together as the heady taste fills Timmy’s mouth. When Armie breaks away to catch his breath, his eyes catch on something, and Timmy looks over to see what it is.

It seems the second peach still sitting on the table has captured Armie’s attention, and he doesn’t know why until one of Armie’s eyebrows lifts up in curiosity. “Do you think I should…too?”

The question takes him by surprise, never even considering that Armie would want to have this experience as well. But in the interest of saving time, and a perfectly good peach, he decides there are easier ways to get the same desired effect. “How about we skip the peach and I just…” He trails off and rolls them over, shimmying on top of Armie and working his way down his body until his face is hovering above his short-clad crotch.

He shoots a quick look back up at Armie, wanting to be sure he’s on board, and by the heated look in his eyes, he would say he very much is. Making quick work to free Armie’s cock from his shorts, he doesn’t hesitate to swallow him down as far as he can, reveling in the feel of Armie’s thick cock in his mouth again. It might be his new favorite taste in the whole world.

Soon he’s lost somewhere in between the feel of Armie’s dick full and heavy in his mouth and the symphony of grunts and moans coming from Armie’s mouth above him, and he almost misses Armie’s warning of his impending climax. Thankfully, he registers Armie’s muscles tensing just before he shoots, and he’s able to relax his throat and take every bit of pulsing, hot come that Armie has to give him as he swallows furiously around him.

Both of them physically and emotionally spent, they fall together on the small mattress and tangle themselves together as they try to catch their breath. Feeling Armie’s chest rise and fall underneath his cheek as they lay quietly together, his mind trips over the true significance of what they shared just then. It’s only then, when he realizes how precious this thing is that they have, that he becomes suddenly terrified of losing it.

It hits him more gradually than it had Elio, just a small wave of emotion rolling through him at first, easy enough to ride out. But then there’s another, a bit bigger, and then another, and pretty soon he feels like he’s gasping for breath as a huge tidal wave threatens to pull him under.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s sobbing until Armie brings a gentle hand up to wipe his tear-stained face, the feeling of Armie pressing soft kisses into his hair and pulling him close almost startling as he comes back to himself. He clings to Armie’s torso, burying his face into Armie’s bare chest and trying to breathe through his still-streaming tears.

Somewhere in between hiccupping sobs, he manages to choke out the reason for his sudden breakdown. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know.”

He feels Armie pull him closer, one hand running up and down his arm soothingly, the other carding through his hair, Armie’s lips pressed against his temple. He doesn’t miss the fact that Armie doesn’t attempt make any grand promises of being together forever, which on some level he’s able to appreciate and understand. Nothing about the future is certain right now, no way of knowing if they are stuck in this world permanently, or even if they somehow do make it back to their real lives, how things will proceed with them once they aren’t in this protective bubble anymore.

Armie continues his show of silent but steady support, allowing Timmy the space he needs to release his emotions without interfering. Somewhere in the back of his head, Timmy notes with a smidge of amusement that the scene wouldn’t have been complete without an emotional breakdown, so at least now they can check that off the list. Eventually, the tears stop, and he is left feeling completely wrung out. He soon falls asleep nestled in the safety of Armie’s strong arms, the faintest hint of Armie’s soothing whispers following him into his dreams.

When he wakes a few hours later, the room is shrouded in complete darkness except for the tiny sliver of light emanating from the moon shining in through the tiny window. He angles his head up to search for Armie’s face in a shadows. When their gazes connect, it’s obvious Armie hasn’t slept at all, eyes clear and bright with the calming strength that Timmy has come to rely on in his more anxious moments. A gentle hand comes up to swipe back a curl that had fallen over his forehead.

“It’s ok, Timmy, I’m here.”

And with just those few words, the tightness in his chest eases just enough for him to breathe normally again. He knows Armie can’t make any long-term promises, neither of them can, but at least for the next couple of weeks, they have each other, outside of time and responsibility and expectation. And for now, it’s enough for him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Elio find themselves in Crema. They have both been looking forward to the press tour taking them back home, to the start. To their start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! You may have noticed that the chapter count had been updated from "?" to "16." That's right, we are nearing the end of this journey. I hope the last few chapters and the resolution of Timmy and Armie and Elio and Oliver's journeys don't disappoint you. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos along the way. They mean so much and it has been a joy to share the story (thus far - it's still not over!) with you.

Oliver and Elio find themselves in Crema. They have both been looking forward to the press tour taking them back home, to the start. To their start.

However, Thomas Wolfe was right when he wrote “you can’t go home again.” Or, at least, Oliver, surmises Wolfe was correct in reference to these two time travelers who suddenly find themselves in the same city where they met, thirty-five years later, with the entire world seeing them as actors who filmed a movie version of their love story. Oliver knows that Wolfe had no idea how very true his words would be in just this situation. 

When Oliver stops to think about it, which he tries not to do often, it is completely incomprehensible. He tries to imagine someone else telling him this exact story and admits to himself he would judge them insane. 

Whatever the cause, whatever the cure, Oliver still does not know. He does know he and Elio have been looking forward to this. Looking forward to a bit of familiarity from these long months of constant learning about this time, this place, these people, this film. He is reminded of that film he had seen not long before going to Italy. He had snuck into the theater like he was breaking a law, choosing a matinee, far downtown to avoid the risk of seeing anyone he knew (never thinking, not once that they might also be seeing the same film and therefore withhold judgment of him, assuming only that they would be seeing a more suitable film, that they would immediately know which film he was there to see, and draw conclusions about his very character, about his proclivities as a result). In the film there is a down-on-her-luck singer who dresses as a man dressing in drag in order to be booked, as her talents sell more tickets when the soprano notes are sung by someone presumed to be male. A woman, pretending to be a man, pretending to be a woman. 

And here Oliver and Elio are pretending to be men who pretended to be them. 

The excitement and anticipation of arriving in Crema have brought Oliver and Elio somehow ever closer together. They both realize, sometimes only subconsciously, that they won’t be greeted by Anchise, fed by Mafalda, and hugged warmly by the Perlmans upon arrival. They know, they do, that Crema served in this time as a movie set. But still, they yearn to go home again. 

They know, they know that Crema of 2018 will not be Crema of 1983. They know and they are still surprised. 

The war memorial, the spot of the scene so pivotal both in the movie and in their lives still stands, proud as ever.

But there is a gelateria where there was none. 

There is a trattoria, Via Vai, where the owners greet Elio and Oliver, as Timothee and Armie, with open arms and a kiss for each cheek. They linger in their greetings to Oliver especially, asking him to come by for a meal, promising to cook him all his favorites, teasing him about the amount of time he has spent there. When he responds, they remark on how much his Italian has improved. In fact, there are so many more restaurants than there had been. 

The tabaccheria is now a music store, overrun with teenagers. Oliver wonders if these are the grandchildren of the men against whom he used to play cards. 

Luca expects them to meet him before the party in the piazza that night at an apartment they have never been to. 

The bank where Oliver had opened his account and, he now realizes, he forgot to close it when he left, he had been so distracted by his love affair with Elio, has moved. He wonders if they might still have his old account records, wonders, idly, how much interest he has accumulated over the past thirty-five years, but does not enter the bank to inquire. He is fearful that there will be no record of his account. Fearful that there will be no record of him ever existing. 

As Oliver feels more at home in Crema, despite the differences between then and now, than anywhere else. He wonders who would miss him from his life in 1983. His girlfriend, perhaps, but they had ended things before he left for Italy and he assumes that if he never contacted her again, she might wonder but would find someone. Find someone better, someone who loves her the way she deserves to be loved. His parents might miss him because of the status he provided them, his successes, their own, in their eyes. Their son, the soon-to-be professor. Their son, the soon-to-be husband. Their son, the soon-to-be family man. They wouldn’t miss him so much as the idea of him. And his colleagues? The other graduate students in his cohort and his professors, advisors, and mentors? They might notice his absence but observing the absence of something is not the same thing as missing it, it is not the same thing as relishing it when it was there. 

Oliver could just disappear from his life in 1983 and no one would notice. Or, if they noticed, it wouldn’t affect them very long. He has spent so much of his life trying to conceal what he feels is the unacceptable parts of him, only to learn one cannot play at picking and choosing. Concealment is a zero sum game and if he does not want anyone to know about one part of him, no one will truly know any part of him. And so he is a ghost, a presence you feel but an absence you do not notice. 

If no one would notice him missing, does he really exist? Do we only exist as we are in relation to others?

He looks over at Elio as they stand at the war memorial, as they did once, as they’ve seen themselves do countless times, and he cannot help the smile that curls his lips. The magic of this place, no matter the differences, is the freedom he has been granted here. Freedom from his battles, with himself, with his wants and desires. He has been able to lay down his sword and shield.

That night he allows himself to be truly free. He dances in the town square, dances with everyone in the town. They may not be the townspeople he had gotten to know during his summer there but their energy, their love, their enthusiasm is the same. The freedom he felt this summer, to really be Oliver, to, for once, get to know himself and let others know him, he allows to pour through him, to pour through Armie, and he lets go. He dances in the town square, dances with Elio. He dances in the town square, long into the night. 

He cannot dance with Elio the way he would like, the way he would prefer. He cannot dance with Elio the way he has heard men dance together at clubs in the city, clubs where he has never dared venture. Clubs, and their thumping beat and flashing lights, that featured in his fantasies, where he had imagined what it would be like to press his body against another man’s. Another body that is hard in all the places a woman’s is soft. A body, sweaty, writhing to the beat, a body that feels like, smells like, and tastes like his. He has dreamt of pressing himself against another man, letting him feel Oliver growing hard against him, imagining the man’s own hard length on his thigh, his hip, against his ass. Imagined being lost in a crowd of other men, men just like him. And in his dreams they all keep dancing, the beat does not stop, no one is dying. 

He cannot dance with Elio like that. But they can dance together, more than they ever could that summer. And Oliver relishes that freedom. He wants to bathe in it. It is a freedom he only let himself believe in his dreams.

And yet it is not a true freedom. He cannot really hold Elio, pressed against him, hip-to-hip, letting Elio’s body move to the beat, guiding Oliver’s way. He cannot relish the ways in which Elio’s body, pressed against his, ignites the scorching passion within him. He cannot enjoy the ways in which Elio’s body is much like his - hard where a woman’s is soft. And also, as he learned this summer, soft in unexpected places. And Oliver has learned he loves the soft places on Elio’s body just as much as the places where he is angular and muscular. Places like his soft belly, the white skin of the tops of his thighs, the tender earlobes, his lips supple and yielding, and his perfect peach. 

He chooses not to dwell on this facade of freedom tonight. He chooses to lose himself in the music, the alcohol, and the company, to enjoy what he has even if it is only improved by degrees. For, he has learned, that is how change occurs. Not with a bang, but with insistent steps of people who never stop marching, of those who never let the banner fall. 

He dances tonight for them, for those who will never get to see the progress that came as a result of their hard work. He dances for himself, for who he was before this summer, before being bounced forward in time and into another world. He dances for Elio who saved his life by giving him life. 

They dance until the sun is rising and Oliver feels as though it is rising on more than a new day. He feels hopeful for the first time since he had dared hope that Elio might return his feelings. He can’t quite articulate just yet what this hope is, he can sense it within him, the part of him that had long been neglected and dead, but he can’t place the shape of it, the borders of it, where it begins and ends and where he is in this shapeless pink cloud. 

He and Elio are flush-faced from dancing and from wine, giggling with a carefree happiness that neither has experienced since waking up in this world and trying to embody Timothee and Armie, except in rare, private moments. The laughter they share in those perfect moments between them is a gift, Oliver collects each laugh as a seashell, packing them away in his memory to bring out on some dreary day in the future - whether it is 2019 or 1984 - when he will no longer have Elio and all he will have is the echoes of laughter off the drab walls of another hotel. 

This laughter feels different - it is an outside laughter, it is a public laughter - here they are dancing together, laughing together, tasting freedom in the main square where they met and learned each other. Oliver takes that slender hand, the one that has caressed him, that has soothed him, that has opened him up with such strength and confidence and love that it has brought Oliver to his knees, he takes that hand and together they run off, grabbing bicycles left unlocked on a side street. 

They pedal to the Villa and stand outside. They have both seen the Villa at night, all lights turned off, everyone else except one or both of them soundly asleep. And yet it feels different. Oliver realizes when you do know someone, as he knew and was known this summer, you can sense their absence. Together, he and Elio stand, clasping hands, looking at the darkened windows, deeply aware that no one sleeps there tonight. Now it is just an old movie set. Oliver feels Elio shiver beside him and he pulls him into his chest. They stand back to chest, each lost in the memories of that summer. Oliver’s own memories play over the scenes from the movie, the movie providing the soundtrack, his memories providing the emotional valence. Seeing the movie provided him the ability to view his memories in the third person, something he is unable to do with the other memories of his life. He wonders if this is due entirely to the movie or whether it is also secondary to being truly present, truly embodied this summer in a way he had never been before. 

Elio whispers, although there is no one around them, “It is both so cold and so warm.” And Oliver knows exactly what he means. 

He unwraps Elio and holds his hand again, pulling him back towards the bicycles. He leads him down the road, to the berm. Although they have never been here at night, it remains the most untouched, unchanged by time. It exists exactly as recorded in Oliver’s memories, no matter the point of view. After giggling and nearly tumbling down the steep, short hill, they drop to the grass, finding warmth in each other’s embrace. 

Elio sighs deeply and Oliver looks over at him, his eyebrows drawn together, his lips pressed in a line. “I know, I know what you said about our lives here, now, in 2018.”

“You do,” Oliver states but also leaves open an unasked question. 

“About our lives being easier. That we would have more protections, more rights, at least if we lived in New York or California,” Elio lists the cities where Timothee and Armie have their homes. “That we could...could get married, if we chose to,” he hurries to say. This is not something they have discussed, not outside the historical implications of the US Supreme Court decision. They have discussed that at length, it was an emotional conversation, tears of happiness shed, but an academic one, one that did not touch upon personal narrative. One that did not address how such a decision could, would, affect Oliver and Elio should they remain here, now. “I know what you said, and I understand, I do.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “But I think I would rather return to 1983. I think despite the discrimination, the death, the difficulties that would face us - would face _me_ it would be, it would be worth it. To have my family, my friends. I think I’m stronger with them. I would want to fight alongside those who fought for us, who are fighting for us, but I don’t know if I can do that without...with them, without my home.” 

Elio’s teeth clench at his bottom lip and when he releases it, there are white marks, ghosts of what was once there. His eyes shine in the darkness as tears fill them. He is a man but suddenly looks like a young boy. Turned toward Oliver, hoping for his approval, fearing his refusal. 

“Oh, Elio.” Oliver feels overcome by his feelings for him. He wants to comfort him. He wants to say that of course they will return to 1983, that of course they will have the courage of those before them, those of that time that they have learned the history of, of course with the love and support of Elio’s family, they will be together to face whatever comes. 

He wants to say all that, he wants to wipe the tears from Elio’s eyes and promise them a happy ending. But he can’t.

He can’t promise that should they return to 1983, he will remain with Elio and together they will have the courage to face a world that hates them and wants them dead.

He can’t promise that should they remain in this present time, that he will remain with Elio and together they will have the courage to face a world that hates them and doesn’t want them in their movies. 

He can’t promise.

And he can’t promise that they have a choice either. 

All he knows is that he longs for a sense of home. A sense of belonging. And he has only ever felt that once. He has learned that home is not a place, but a person. And that person, for him, is Elio. Oliver longs to be courageous enough to build a life with the home that Elio provides him and wishes that he would be strong enough to protect them, their life together. He wants to take Elio in his arms and promise to be his fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie referenced is Victor/Victoria (1982) with Julie Andrews.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy have a couple weeks of domestic bliss, before heading off to Bergamo, and grappling with the end of their time together, and what it means for their relationship going forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you all are doing well and staying healthy and sane during this crazy time. So, this is the penultimate chapter of this story, and that fills me with both relief for having made it through and sadness because I'm not ready for it to end. But there is still one more chapter left, so it's not time to say goodbye quite yet! But along with that, for both my own and ThatAJ's sanity in getting the final chapter ready, we are going to wait until next Sunday to post the finale, which will be a combined chapter of both Elio/Oliver and Armie/Timmy's sides of the story, just as the first chapter was. So when you don't see a new chapter on Wednesday, you'll know why.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's overall a bit lighter than some other chapters, but still has dashes of angst here and there. I had a fun writing it, so hopefully you will feel the same reading it. :D
> 
> And as always, all my love and gratitude for all the amazing comments and kudos. You all are so wonderful and motivating and your unending support fills my heart with joy every day. Thank you. <333

The following two weeks float by in a haze of warm summer days and long, heated nights spent discovering every inch of each other’s bodies and all the ways to give each other pleasure. It doesn’t take long until they’ve figured out the positions that work, and those that don’t, and the various acts they both prefer more than others. Timmy’s mouth is made for sucking Armie’s cock, while Armie is surprised to find he actually loves the taste of Timmy’s perfect, tight ass.

Armie feels more alive than he can ever remember as he and Timmy explore this new side of their relationship. It’s exhausting in a way he hadn’t anticipated, Timmy’s seemingly insatiable sexual appetite has him wishing he still had the stamina and energy of his former 21 year old self. It’s been a long time since he’s had this much consistent sex; even before Harper was born, that side of his relationship with Liz had tapered off to much less than it had been when they were first married, and it had been practically non-existent for going on a year since Ford was born. But despite the ache in his muscles from the marathon fucking sessions, his heart is more happy than it has been in years, or possibly ever.

Their days are spent together laying around the villa and the surrounding grounds, inseparable except for the short periods of time Armie has to help Professor Perlman. They feel an extra air of freedom around them to not hide the change in dynamics between them, having the advantage of knowing that Samuel and Annella are aware and approve of their relationship, or at least the relationship they believe is between Elio and Oliver. So they allow themselves to sit a bit closer, touch a little longer, speak things aloud that maybe their fictional counterparts would have held back until they were safely in the privacy of Elio’s room and they could whisper them to each other in the dark.

It feels a bit like a dream at times, the two of them curled into each other on the edge of the pool, in _heaven_ , where nothing and no one could come between them. And in those moments, one of them would inevitably say how they wished the moment could last forever, and the topic of messing with the timeline would arise. But as tempting as it would be to just replay these days over and over, giving them more time to exist in this perfect bubble, it occurs to them that they wouldn’t even know how to make that happen. These days of domestic bliss were mostly passed over in both the movie and book, so trying to figure out how to alter things enough to get thrown back to the beginning of the day again wouldn’t be an easy task.

So they decide to make the best of the time they have and not think about their impending separation, either the fictional one or the very real one waiting for them back in their own world, if they ever make it back there.

They get lost in each other, forgetting everything else. The day Marzia shows up, it catches them off guard, having completely forgotten her part in things until they are coming out of the villa to go for a swim and they see her riding up on her bike. Armie can feel Timmy stiffen beside him, but Timmy walks over to greet her, Armie staying back several yards to allow them a bit of privacy.

Having not actually slept together, the blow of Timmy not being interested in her seems to be less than it had in the original story, and, after Timmy seems to have finished explaining, she looks over to Armie with a wistful look on her face and gives a small nod. His chest tightens, knowing the sting of rejection is never easy to take, and gives her a sympathetic small with a returned nod.

When she rides away a couple minutes later, Timmy walks back over to him, shoulders hunched forward, obviously feeling bad about having to turn her down.

“She gonna be ok?”

Timmy gives a half shrug and all but collapses into Armie’s chest face first. “Yeah, I think so. I know I made the right decision before not to go through with sleeping with her, so at least it was easier, but it still sucks to disappoint someone like that.”

Armie stays quiet, not sure what he could say to make the situation less awkward. He just wraps his arms loosely around Timmy’s back and waits, content to stay standing together there until Timmy is ready.

A minute later, Timmy pulls back and looks up at him with a grateful expression, giving a slight jerk of his head in the direction of the pool. “Come on, let’s go.”

And just like that, things between them return to the way it has been for the past few days, just the two of them, wrapped up in each other and shutting out the rest of the world. Elio and Oliver fall away almost entirely, only just barely managing to keep up the pretense whenever the Perlman’s are present. But even then, the lines between reality and fiction have become so muddled, they can hardly tell the difference anymore.

The day that Annella approaches Armie about “Elio” going with him to Bergamo when he leaves the following day, it hits him just how close to the end of the story they are…and how limited their remaining time together is. Their lovemaking that night is more frantic than it has been so far, neither of them speaking aloud the reason why, but allowing their bodies to communicate their fears and doubts about what’s to come.

Still, despite the uncertainty of the coming days, when the bus pulls away from the piazzetta the following afternoon and he sits down next to Timmy, truly free to be themselves for the first time in weeks, his heart feels like it has grown wings and might flutter right out of his chest. 

As much as he’s grateful for Oliver and Elio for bringing them together in this most unexpected way, being able to shed their skin completely as they travel to a city where no one would know the difference between Elio and Oliver or Armie and Timmy, is liberating in a way he hadn’t been expecting. It’s like he now knows what it feels like to be his true self openly for the first time in his life, and it’s intoxicating. They barely make it off the bus before Armie pulls Timmy into a passionate kiss, right there in the middle of the crowded main square in Bergamo. No one stops them or gives them dirty looks, and when Timmy pulls back several seconds later, he’s got a wide grin on his face.

“What was that for?”

Armie can’t hide his own grin, wouldn’t want to even if he could. “Because I could.”

Timmy shoulder-checks him with a breathy giggle before picking up their bags, which had been dropped mid-kiss, and starts walking in the general direction of their hotel. Armie follows a few seconds later, content to watch Timmy’s distinctive swagger from behind until Timmy turns around and raises an eyebrow at him in clear amusement.

Since they have three nights in Bergamo, they decide to spend the first night cozied up in the hotel, making love for hours and enjoying the freedom of not worrying about anyone else overhearing them. Even though the entire villa had known exactly what was transpiring every night up in Elio’s room, they had still tried to be discreet about their encounters as much as possible. But now, with no one in the surrounding rooms of the hotel and far away from anyone who thinks they are Oliver and Elio, they don’t hold back being as vocal and enthusiastic as they want, using their own names in the throes of their passion.

The next day, they pack a makeshift picnic and head up to the waterfall on the edge of the main part of town. Thankfully, this time around is much easier than when they’d shot the movie – no heavy equipment to carry up the steep hills, no deadlines to meet or pressure to get the perfect shot in one try. And it turns out, much to their surprise and delight, that it’s actually a real waterfall instead of a hydroelectric dam, so they take their time climbing up the mountainside, hands twined together with the soundtrack of rushing water in the background to guide them.

Just as they near the top of the peak, Timmy runs up ahead, excited to see the full view of the glory of nature all around them. Armie watches him bound away, breathless and sore, but happy. He thinks about what Luca had said to him during the filming of this scene. _“Think about the possibility of impossibilities!”_ It hadn’t made a lick of sense to him in the moment, and he had been more frustrated than inspired. Somehow he’d been able to fake his way through it and miraculously give Luca whatever it was he’d been looking for, but he’d never quite understood the concept in a way that meant anything to him.

Until now, as he sees Timmy turn back and give him a blinding smile, one that simultaneously makes him feel like he can fly and breaks his heart. He finally understands what Luca had meant in that moment, where Oliver pondered what he and Elio could be, what they could have, if only things were not as he knew they were. The life that they may have been meant to have, but wasn’t the one they had been given to live.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, lost in thought about the state of everything, his own life, Timmy’s, this thing they have between them that means more to him than anything but is also something he’s not sure can ever be real or last in their own reality. Eventually Timmy wanders back down, and the feeling of his gentle hand on his cheek snaps him out of his daydream.

“Hey, you coming?”

Armie blinks, eyes shifting to find Timmy’s. He gives a shaky nod, forcing his lips to twist up in the best makeshift smile he can manage.

But Timmy sees right through him, as always. “Is everything ok?”

The real answer to that question is far more complicated than he can ever explain, but he knows he needs to try. “Yeah, it’s just…Timmy, promise me something, ok?”

Timmy’s eyes search his, but he responds without hesitation. “Anything.”

The implicit trust that Timmy has in him can be overwhelming at times, but right now it’s more of a comfort than he cares to admit. “Promise me that, no matter what happens or where we end up after the next few days, we won’t spend the next 20 years wishing things were different. That whatever path we take, it will be the right one, for both of us. I don’t want to end up like Elio and Oliver, living a coma life because society dictated it. Our choices should be our own.”

Armie watches silently as the entire process of Timmy’s brain working through what he said plays out on his face, and in the end, understanding the real meaning behind it. They hadn’t ever really spoken about it – the possibility that this could be only temporary – beyond the day with the peach when he’d had no real reassurances to give aside from his physical presence in the moment. That, while their love is real and strong, there are forces beyond their control that can keep them apart, just as it had for Elio and Oliver.

After a long beat, Timmy steps forward, bringing them flush together, leans up on his tip toes as he wraps one hand around the back of Armie’s head and brings their lips together in a tender kiss. It only lasts a few seconds, but somehow it breathes life back into his entire being. “Promise.” It’s barely a whisper against his lips as they part, but it’s all he needs.

When Timmy looks back up at him, eyes wide and full of trust and love, he lets himself relax. This is Timmy, and he finds it impossible not to grant him the same trust that Timmy has always given him without a second thought. They will find a way to be ok, he knows that.

Timmy’s hand slides into his and gives a light tug, and Armie allows himself to be pulled up the rest of the way to the top, where the view of the waterfall and the surrounding mountains is nothing short of spectacular. They find a cozy spot to set up their picnic, and spend the next several hours laying together in the middle of this serene place, trading lazy kisses and being completely in the moment with each other while they have the chance.

They only decide to leave as the afternoon sun starts to dip behind the distant mountaintops and a few dark clouds roll in, signaling a potential storm. They manage to make it almost all the way back down before it begins to pour, and they take off running the rest of the way, seeking shelter in the nearest place with cover once they get back onto the main road. 

It happens to be the train station, and both of them resolutely ignore the fact that it’s the very train station where there will be a train waiting to take Armie far away in 2 days. Instead, they huddle together, both already soaked to the bone, and come up with imaginary backstories for the people who pass them by on the way to whatever far off destination they may be traveling. It works well to distract them until the rain lets up enough for them to make a break for it and get back to the hotel, shivering and dripping, but overall still in good spirits.

They sleep late the next morning, still worn out from their trek to the waterfall the previous day. Armie wakes first, carefully extracting himself from underneath a snoring Timmy, and goes down to the café around the corner from their hotel, ordering them breakfast and bringing it back so they can eat in bed when Timmy wakes.

It isn’t until mid afternoon when they finally emerge from their room, having had a round of lazy sex after breakfast, followed by a couple hours where neither of them were particularly motivated to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed, or each other. Eventually, they make their way out to explore the heart of Bergamo, noting all the differences from what they had experienced when they filmed the movie, much like they had in Crema on their first trip into the small town square.

Timmy finds a shop selling records, and Armie enjoys looking through the local market. For dinner, they go to the nicest restaurant they can find, deciding to go all out in the face of the unknown that the new day will bring. They split a bottle of grappa, and despite knowing the likely outcome, Timmy does his best to keep up with Armie, much to Armie’s amusement.

The resulting buzz makes Armie feel free and alive, and though he knows there are a million things he should be worried about right now, on their possibly last night together, all he wants to do is make the most of this time with Timmy, however they can. 

So when they come upon the couple dancing to “Love My Way”, Armie does join in, as Oliver did. But this time, he pulls Timmy along with him, circling his arms around Timmy’s waist and pulling him close as they sway to the song together, giddy grins on both of their faces.

Stumbling down the empty street later, Timmy thankfully avoiding the puking portion of the evening, Armie feels a warm glow surrounding him and spreading throughout his whole body. He moves toward the wall, Timmy’s hand in his, pulling gently. Timmy follows, but something in the way he moves feels off. Maybe he is starting to feel sick from all the grappa after all.

When Armie finally reaches the edge of the street, he lets his back fall back against the wall with a soft sigh, expecting Timmy to move in close and kiss him. Their “kiss of a lifetime”, as the script had described it. But while Timmy’s hips slot in close to his, he keeps his upper body at a bit of a distance – certainly not an ideal kissing position. Armie waits a minute to see if Timmy will say or do anything, but when he simple stays there, swaying just a bit from the alcohol, he can sense something is going on.

“Everything ok, T? You’re not gonna punch the wall again, are you?” He attempts to keep things light, hoping he’s being paranoid and that Timmy is just a bit lightheaded from too much grappa.

The remark earns him a shoulder to the chest and a snarky, “No, asshole,” which is at least accompanied by a sheepish smile. But it soon fades, and just as quickly as he’d moved into Armie’s space, he drifts back out of it again. “It’s just…I mean, it’s just us here, and it’s our last night together before…well we don’t even fucking know. And I just wonder that if I kiss you, like this, if it’ll all just be a performance. Not something organic just because we want to kiss each other, but because that’s what the script says, ya know? I just want one thing, for _us_. Aren’t you worried it won’t feel real?”

Of all the things Armie thought might be wrong, this hadn’t even been on the list. But still, he considers Timmy’s words carefully, trying to understand the path his thoughts had taken him down. “Actually, no. I’m not.” At Timmy’s questioning look, he tries to explain further. “I think, even when I couldn’t consciously recognize it, it was never truly just a performance with you. Even way back in Luca’s backyard, the very first time we kissed, there was an element of something real there. I think it’s why it was so easy to trust you and feel comfortable during our intimate scenes, because on some level, deep down, it felt right, felt real. And I can finally see it for what it is now. I don’t think I’ve ever really had a fake kiss with you, Timmy. And I don’t intend to start now.”

The light from the streetlamp overhead catches on the wetness forming around the edges of Timmy’s eyes, and he leans forward, circling his arms around Timmy’s waist. “Really?” It’s barely audible, a hint of a whisper floating through the air between them.

“Mmm hmm.” He nods, bringing his head down so that their faces are barely an inch from each other, but careful not to touch. “Kiss me, Timmy.” He sees it in the way Timmy’s bottom lip quivers, hears it in the tiny catch of his breath, feels it in the way Timmy’s fingers curl into his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. It’s clear Timmy recognizes the throwback to their first time together – to _their_ midnight, not Elio and Oliver’s – and knows Armie is sincere.

And as their lips finally touch, Armie doesn’t see fireworks, doesn’t feel the earth move beneath him. It’s a quieter sort of feeling, but just as powerful. It’s the warmth shining on his face for the first time after having been locked in darkness for years. It’s the first full breath of air rushing into his lungs after holding his breath until just before he collapses. It’s the softness of his favorite blanket being pulled up over his sleeping form after falling asleep on the couch. It’s like no other feeling he’s ever felt before, and knows he won’t find with anyone else. It’s home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From ThatAJ:  
> Wow, I can’t believe we are here at the end of this incredible journey. I want to thank each of you who have joined us during this project. I have been honored to be a part of this. This was my first time writing Oliver and Elio, my first time writing about the press tour/canon, and my first collaboration. Thank you to each of you who were willing to read along as I fumbled my way through. I hope you are as happy with the ending for these boys as I am. 
> 
> A very special thank you to lfg1986 for allowing me to collaborate with her. I’m grateful that we have created something so special and of which I am incredibly proud. But, more than anything, I’m grateful to have developed a friendship with you, my dear lfg1986. 
> 
> From lfg1986:  
> I have so many feelings about the ending of this story. First, it's been such an incredible experience to work on this with such a talented author and all-around lovely person such as ThatAJ. We didn't know each other very well when we began this project, but through it I have found such an amazing friendship and I am forever grateful for the opportunity to share my first collaboration with her. 
> 
> And as for the actual story, it would be remiss of me to not mention one more time what an amazing prompt this was, originally from the wonderful LoveMyWayWrites, and I'm so happy that we were able to bring it to fruition and make something that I'm very proud of.
> 
> And finally, you, my dear readers. Thank you for coming on this journey with us. For trusting us and remaining patient while we worked out a few glitches in the beginning of everything, and for being so supportive and encouraging throughout this process. The amazing comments we received filled my heart with such joy, you will never know how much each one was appreciated. So thank you. And now, I hope you enjoy our conclusion to this story! <333

The text comes through just as Oliver finishes reading an email from Luca apologizing for not being able to attend the awards ceremony and congratulating him, or, rather, Armie, on this much-deserved recognition. 

_ Hi, it’s me. I’m here in Austin! -Elio _

They have both gotten used to texting, to having telephones in their pockets, to having access to the miracle that is FaceTime. Although Elio remains saved in Oliver’s phone as “Timmy” and Oliver in Elio’s as “Armie” they have taken to signing their own names to texts in an unspoken agreement that when they do so it means no one else is around, looking over their shoulder, doing hair, fixing their clothes, or occasionally, doing their makeup. For Oliver it means that he’s without Armie’s wife or children. The secrecy, while necessary, continually reminds Oliver this is not the life he wants. 

He does not want to live a double life, maintaining a facade that makes him acceptable to others while he secretly tries to maintain his true self. He does not believe he can live the life of a double agent and maintain any sense of integrity - integrity of his values, what makes him a person in this world, and integrity of his psyche. He fears if he were to split himself for too long, something inside him would collapse. He would be left like the ancient ruins he visited first in Sicily and then later with Elio and his father. 

He is excited to see Elio. He has been longing for him - not only physically, although there’s that, there’s always that, but also emotionally. He wants to discuss with him the realizations he’s come to, half-formed though they might be. He’s never opened himself like this - sharing half constructed ideas, half formed thoughts. He’s never thought aloud before. He’s always waited until he’s picked up the idea, examined it, polished it, before presenting it to the world. Much like his physical being. Embodying masculinity in such a way that no one can find fault. No one can spot the cracks in the perfect veneer. 

But somewhere along the way, who he is, how he relates to himself, and, especially, how he relates to Elio, it has all shifted. He knows it was a slow process, across all these months they have been in this world, in this time. But to look back, to reflect, it feels sudden. One night he went to sleep in 1983 in Bergamo and now he’s in 2018 in Austin. One night he fell asleep determined to leave Elio and pursue living a lie - a beautiful lie - and now here he is, eager to discuss with Elio how he imagines his future, their future if Elio is willing to grab hold of the hand Oliver wants to extend to him.

He has changed. He is more willing to share, at least with Elio, half-formed, unpolished ideas. And also. And also, they are running out of time. After tomorrow night, after Elio presents this award to Armie, they do not know the next time they will see each other. Oliver supposes he could leave it in the universe’s hands, but the universe, in thrusting them into this world, has changed him. He is no longer willing to take what life brings him, acquiesce to the wishes, the desires, the projected images of others. 

Their time together was supposed to end at the Oscars but like being granted a stay of execution, they have been given this final awards show. He should have done something, said something, stolen Elio away then. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. He needed to see him shine, to have praise heaped on him that he deserves - whether or not he acted in this film, Elio deserves praise, always. Not the least reason being adapting to this adventure with only Oliver by his side. Oliver does not know how much longer he can rely on his fate in the universe’s hands. 

Oliver grins at the phone, at the text from Elio. 

_Are you at the airport?_ He does not sign it “Oliver” as he is in the hotel room with Liz. He hears the water shut off, indicating she is finishing her shower. His phone chimes immediately with a response. 

_No, already at the hotel bar. Are you able to join me?_ Oliver feels his grin widen as he hears the bathroom door open and he is met with the warm steam billowing out. 

He smiles up at Liz. “Hey there!” She smiles back at him. “It’s Timmy - he’s at the hotel bar. Would you mind if I went down to meet him while you dress for dinner?”

She twists her wet hair up into a towel turban and leans over to kiss his cheek. “Of course not. But don’t forget, we have 8 PM reservations. All three of us.” She playfully wags her finger at him and he chuckles. 

“Of course not,” he assures her. “See you then.” He slips out the hotel door and almost wants to run down the stairs rather than wait for the hotel elevator. He wants to run down the stairs and expel some of this excited energy that is exploding like fireworks in his chest. He takes the elevator and deep breaths that he exhales slowly through pursed lips. He walks, resisting the urge to run, to skip, to glide, to the hotel bar. Once there he glances around and feels the explosions begin in his chest again when he sees the familiar mop of curls, tucked away in a booth toward the back of the area in the hotel lobby that has been sectioned off for the bar. He slides into the booth across and Elio looks up in surprise that quickly settles into joyful recognition when he recognizes Oliver.

“Hey,” Oliver says, his voice rumbles low and soft. A smile spreads lazily across Elio’s face and his eyes are slightly hooded. Oliver wonders if the nearly empty glass of wine on the table is Elio’s first or second. He grabs the waiter’s attention and orders two more glasses. While they wait, they talk about Elio’s flight, his impressions of Texas so far, comfortable chatter. 

When the glasses, filled to the brim with wine, an American custom that Elio has gotten used to but never ceases to find amusing, are brought to the table, Oliver waits a moment for the waiter to make their exit before lifting his glass. “To us, Elio.”

“To-to us?” Elio stammers and Oliver concludes this must be his third glass. 

“Yes,” Oliver hides his grin behind his glass. “I - I’ve been thinking.”

“About us?” Elio’s eyes widen, somehow, even after all this time, after all they’ve been through together, Elio still seems surprised that Oliver thinks of him, thinks of them, wants him, wants them. 

“About us,” Oliver affirms. He sips his wine before placing the glass down, running his finger around the rim. 

“What about us?” Elio’s mouth twists slightly as he begins to chew on the corner of his mouth. Oliver lifts his finger from the wine glass and touches the corner of Elio’s mouth. He instantly releases his flesh from between his teeth. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. What you said about wishing we could return, to 1983, to your home. What you said about wanting to join the fight, to fight for the rights of others like us, others even less fortunate.”

“Oh,” Elio’s gaze drops to his wine glass, as though he is a fortune teller and there are tea leaves in there that will somehow direct him through this. Oliver realizes, with a sinking feeling, that Elio is somehow expecting Oliver to be delivering bad news. What news could he deliver? Oliver wonders quickly. That he has found a way back in time but is holding Elio hostage here? That he won’t return with Elio? Surely, by now, Elio must realize... but obviously not. 

The same finger that ran laps around the wine glass, that touched the corner of Elio’s mouth, travels to Elio’s chin, lifting it. “There you are,” Oliver smiles at Elio. “I - I was thinking about what you said and...I’m embarrassed to admit that when you told me that I didn’t believe I would have the courage.”

“The courage if we went back?”

“The courage in any time, in any place, to be different, to stand away from the crowd. Even if it meant, even if it meant, being able to truly be myself. Even if it meant that we, perhaps, that we might have even a chance to be together. I, well, I wasn’t sure.” 

“You weren’t sure,” Elio repeats. “But now?”

“Elio,” Oliver’s voice drops to a whisper. It’s hardly necessary in this busy bar, the hustle and bustle of others coming and going, their voices growing louder, amplified by alcohol. It’s hardly necessary but it feels right, this is intimate, a confession. “I can’t imagine living life the way I have - the way I have as Armie. Of hiding myself, hiding who I really am. Living in fear. Of hiding _you_ , who you are to me, what you mean to me. But,” the next words come out in a rush, bumping into each other. “But this is not, it’s not contingent on you. You’re young. You have a whole life to lead. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t ask… Anyway. I can’t live like this. Not being true to myself, never really feeling at home in my life. That would be a- a half-life, like living in a coma.”

Elio looks at Oliver, his eyes shining with something Oliver dares not name until he speaks. “You wouldn’t ask me, you couldn’t ask me… but what if you did?” It is hope.

“If I did?” Oliver wades in, hoping it is a cold fresh water spring and not quicksand.

“If you did.” Elio’s cheeks are flushed from the wine and perhaps something else. 

“And what would you say?” Oliver pushes a foot forward, testing out the steadiness of what’s before him. 

“I guess you would have to ask me to find out.” Elio pushes his foot back.

“That’s a big risk,” Oliver says, his voice deep with the gravity of it all.

“Bigger than deciding to live your life authentically?” Elio recognizes the gravity and insists he jump, no testing the ground, no seeing if he will be caught and held. 

“Bigger than the entire universe.” Oliver’s love for Elio is infinite. He still, still, still remains uncertain if it is better to risk knowing or to leave the question unasked, the possibility of a yes always there, the possibility of a no never risked. 

“That is big. I still think you should risk it.” It is better to speak. 

Oliver takes a breath that forces him to straighten his posture. He looks into Elio’s shining eyes, wider now, despite the wine. He borrows courage from Elio, “Would you - “

“Yes,” Elio cuts him off. “Yes,” he laughs. “Yes,” he nearly shouts.

Oliver reaches under the table and finds Elio’s slender hand already reaching for him. They share twin smiles across the small table, their hands clasped together. They share the moment until Oliver catches sight of his watch and reminds Elio they have to join Liz for dinner. 

The two of them are clearly riding the high of recognition of what they have committed to each other, they exchange giggles, glances, furtive touches, pinky fingers brushing against each other as they rest their hands side-by-side on the white table cloth. Liz jokes with them about how much they had to drink, how much they are having to drink, about being hungover tomorrow. It is not the alcohol, which has long worn off, they are drunk on each other. 

As dinner concludes, Liz yawns and announces she’s exhausted. She glances up and down at Elio who has a huge smile plastered across his mouth and whose cheeks are flushed. She places a gentle hand on Oliver’s shoulder and suggests he escort him back to his room. “Poor kid, he can’t really expect to keep up with you. I hope he’s not hurting too much tomorrow. Make sure he drinks water and takes some aspirin.”

Oliver doesn’t correct her - the type of high-flying happiness Elio is experiencing, Oliver is experiencing, doesn’t come with a hangover. Not unless, not unless one of them was to suddenly change his mind but Oliver takes that doubt and shoves it down, the way he used to do with hope, the way he used to do with his whole self. 

When they get inside the door of Elio’s hotel room, Oliver pushes him up against the wall, taking his mouth deep in a kiss. It is the same kiss but in a different time, a different place. A kiss of a lifetime. And when Oliver pushes into Elio that night, it feels like a promise. 

Love is an action and a promise. 

“I love you,” Oliver whispers against sweaty curls as they are wrapped up in each other, two halves of one whole. 

Elio looks up at him, the world reflected in his eyes. “I love you.” 

***

Taking a deep breath in, Armie feels the crisp night air fill his lungs as he looks out over the quiet city center from the open window of their hotel room. Luckily, there are no people passing by to witness his naked form from below, but at this point, it’s the least of his concerns. The cigarette in his hand is down to the last drag, which he takes quickly before stubbing it out in the ashtray next to the window, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before releasing it out into the night air.

Once the last wisps have evaporated into nothing, he turns, eyes adjusting in the dark to find Timmy’s peacefully sleeping form sprawled out on the bed, looking so much like Elio but still somehow so distinctively Timmy, it takes his breath away for a moment. It’s the weirdest form of déjà vu, much like the feeling he had when he’d first woken up in the car to find Anchise that first day in this place, this story. He’s been here before, wrestled with these same feelings of impending loss and not being ready for it.

But the major difference this time is that neither of them know what comes next. When they filmed this scene two years ago, it was much like the ending of any other shooting experience. And sure, this one definitely stood out above the rest as unique in how close they had all become and special in how it had personally affected him, but at the end of the day, it was still a job, and there was another one waiting for him to start just a few weeks later. And he knew he and Timmy would see each other again for the promo tour a few months later. There was a relief in knowing what to expect, even if the sadness of the experience itself ending was still very much present.

But now, there’s no way to know what will happen when he steps onto that train in the morning, supposedly taking him back to America, but he had no way to be sure where he would end up, or what would happen to Timmy after they parted. The movie jumps ahead to the following winter, but the idea of having to wait 6 months until he can speak to Timmy again is beyond comprehension. And after that? They had no idea how or if they might return to their real lives once the story as they had told it was finished, and neither of them wanted to think about the very real possibility that they may never get back.

When they’d made love earlier, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Timmy on top of him, his movements alternating between frantic and then almost unbearably slow, taking them both right up to the edge several times before pulling them back at the last second, trying to draw out the sensations for as long as possible. He’d refused to touch himself, and hadn’t let Armie help, either, until he was almost to the point of sobbing with the need to come. Only then did he desperately grab at Armie’s hand and wrap it around himself, letting out a strangled cry of relief at the friction. It had only taken a handful of strokes before Timmy was coming hard between them, shooting what felt like endless ropes of white all over his belly. Armie had followed shortly after, unable to hold back when he felt Timmy fluttering around him as he rode out his aftershocks. With a low grunt, he filled Timmy to the brim just before Timmy had collapsed on him, insisting Armie stay inside of him for as long as possible.

After, they’d stayed quiet for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts about what was possibly their last night together. After a while, Timmy finally spoke, hesitant and impossibly sad. “What if you just…don’t get on the train? Just stay here, and we can live this day over again on a loop for as long as possible. Maybe whatever put us here will take pity on us and let us go home.”

Armie had shut his eyes, considering Timmy’s words more seriously than he’d like to admit, and even when he did speak, he lacked any real conviction for what he was saying. “We don’t know that would even work. And I’m sure living the same day over again endlessly would get old fast. We’d never be able to do anything or go anywhere for more than 24 hours before starting all over. That’s no way to live.”

Timmy hadn’t responded, but he felt the distinct feeling of wetness against his shoulder as the tears Timmy had been holding in finally began to fall. His heart broke in that moment, but he didn’t know what to do to fix things this time. He had run out of ideas and reassurances, and that was the worst feeling of all.

The truth was, despite what he’d said to Timmy, he was more than tempted to do exactly as he’d suggested. Mess up the story and just freeze time for a bit, give them more of a fighting chance to be together without forces beyond their control ripping them apart. He may have shot down the idea out loud, but he knew deep down that his heart wouldn’t be able to make a final decision until they were standing on that platform and he was faced with leaving Timmy for real.

He’d almost fallen asleep when he heard a sleepy murmur float up to him. “I love you, Armie.” It was the first time Timmy had spoken the words out loud to him, though he’d felt them in every touch, every look, every whimper of his name when he moved inside him. They’d moved past the need to express their feelings with words, so hearing Tim say them now, he realized just how scared he must feel about everything.

His heart clenched in his chest, and he’d had to force back his own tears, needing to be strong for the both of them. Brushing back a few sweaty curls from Timmy’s forehead, he’d placed his lips to his damp temple, pressing his own “I love yous” into Timmy’s skin for long minutes until Timmy’s breath finally evened out and he heard the first sound of Timmy’s faint snores drift up to him.

He’d waited, completely still, until he was sure that Timmy was sound asleep before he carefully slipped out from underneath him, finding the pack of cigarettes he’d bought earlier when they were out and about in town. He’d needed the distraction, the feel of something familiar and comforting to keep him from completely breaking down. The smoke had served to warm him from the inside out, chasing away the icy grip of fear that had begun to wrap around his heart, squeezing painfully as he tried to will time to stop for just a little while, until he could figure out a plan.

But now that the cigarette is gone, the cold feeling returns and causes him to shiver, despite the warmth of the summer night air swirling around him, still no closer to finding a solution to their impending separation. He sees Timmy shift in his sleep, curling in on himself like he, too, was seeking warmth to keep the chill of loneliness at bay just a little longer.

Armie returns to the bed, slipping back in as carefully as he can to not disturb Timmy’s slumber. But it doesn’t matter. He’s barely even fully situated under the sheets before Timmy instinctively reaches out to him, still asleep from what Armie can tell, curling into his side and burying his face in the crook of Armie’s neck, nuzzling softly for a few seconds before settling again, face smoothing out into a peaceful expression as he drifts back under the sea of unconsciousness.

It takes Armie another long while to follow him, but when he finally does, it’s with the feeling of Timmy’s hand pressed tightly over his heart, and Timmy’s breath tickling the side of his neck. And he thinks that if this is his last night that he ever gets with Timmy, it was the best one he could have ever hoped for.

***

Oliver is awoken the next morning, not by his cell phone alarm set for just before dawn that will allow him to sneak back into the hotel room he is sharing with Armie’s wife, but to the sun dancing its way through gauzy curtains that were not pulled shut across french doors opening to a Juliet balcony. The sheets are softer than he expects. The room is warmer than it should be, there is no white noise hum of the air conditioner and the fake chill of the room he fell asleep in. He glances down at Elio, his lips softly parted in sleep, his head resting on Oliver’s chest, his hair shorter than when they fell asleep the night before. 

Oliver sits up suddenly, jostling Elio from his spot, from his sleep. “Oliver?” Elio’s voice is sleep-rough and he wipes at his eyes with his hands. “What are you - “ his eyes widen as they take in the room around them. He looks at Oliver and Oliver nods. 

“We’re back in - in Bergamo. In 1983.”

“We’re back in Bergamo. In 1983.”

They both know, they truly know having seen the film countless times, that Oliver has a train to catch. A train that will take him to the airport and from there back to New York City and a life that Elio has no role in. They silently pack their belongings and check out of the hotel. 

They know what future awaits them, unless. As they stand on the train platform and the whistle sounds, Oliver pulls back from Elio’s clasping hug, holds Elio by his shoulders, forcing him to tilt his head up to make eye contact with him. “This changes nothing.” 

Elio’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears and his nose is pink with tears already shed, as earlier this morning, as they were packing, he ran the water in the hotel bathroom trying to camouflage his sobs. “But how - “

“I don’t know,” Oliver admits. “But I didn’t know last night either. And that was, that was good enough for us, then, wasn’t it?” 

“I thought we would have more time to - to figure it out.” Elio’s voice trembles.

“We still have all the time in the world and, more importantly, we have each other. That hasn’t, that will not change,” Oliver assures him as much as himself. Elio nods and clings to Oliver again. “Oliver,” Oliver whispers, his voice hoarse with tears.

“Elio, Elio, Elio,” his promise is returned. 

Hours, what feels like a lifetime later, Oliver unlocks his apartment door. The air is less stale than it might be thanks to a neighbor who has been checking and dropping off his mail. There is a thin film of dust on his books, his records, and he runs his finger through it before wiping it on his shorts. He opens a window and lets the noises of the street drift in. They are louder, more piercing than he remembered. 

He looks around at his small apartment, overflowing with his belongings, and it feels empty. There is a gnawing in his chest and there’s only one thing he can think to do. He sits next to the phone and begins the process of dialing around-and-around a number that he has stared at through a train trip, two airplanes, and a taxi ride. He has it memorized, would recognize the shape of it if it showed up on a cell phone screen, he thinks ruefully to himself.

“Pronto?”

“Elio, Elio is that you?” Oliver feels a smile grow on his face and realizes that he hasn’t smiled since the night before, since the night before in 2018. 

“Oliver?” 

“Yes, yes it’s me,” Oliver laughs, happy just to hear Elio’s voice, slightly warped and through the lowest thrum of static. He would have never noticed it before but after FaceTime calls and the crispness of good cell reception, he has to readjust to what has always been normal. 

“Are you home?”

“I’m back in my apartment,” Oliver confirms his arrival but realizes he has left his home with Elio, in the place where he was able to finally be himself, in the place where he finally learned who he is. 

“Is it, is it the same?”

“I had forgotten, but yes it is. Even the noises from the street haven't changed,” he had only left two months ago and also several months and a lifetime ago. He feels like he’s suddenly in a movie of his life, none of it feels quite real. 

“I want to hear!” 

Oliver stretches the cord from the kitchen to the window and holds the receiver out the window. There are shouts from the playground below, music streaming from boombox speakers, greetings shouted across the street between neighbors. So different from the cicadas, Anchise sharpening his knives and Mafalda gossiping in the kitchen. So different from the friendly shouts of a heated discussion in three different languages. So different from Elio plunking at the piano. 

“It sounds so alive, Oliver!” 

Oliver tries to hear the cacophony through new ears but to him this is a city where he never truly lived, the noise of this summer is the soundtrack to his being truly alive. He swallows against something that feels like it is fighting him, something that feels like a monster, a life-long enemy, that Oliver must slay again and again. “It does, Elio, it does.” 

He will. He will fight it no matter how many times it rears its ugly head. He will fight the monster that is inside him, that he once believed was him, and he will fight the monsters outside, those that would rather see him dead, Elio dead, than happy and together. The monsters of hatred, of greed, and apathy. 

“Oliver, Oliver, I was thinking!” Elio sounds breathless. 

Oliver stretches the cord a bit more to sit down in an armchair. “You were thinking?”

“What if - what if I applied to schools in the US? In New York? There are so many - Julliard, of course, but also New York University, and, and Columbia, if, if that would be okay.” You’ve promised that I have a role in your life, but how far does that role extend, Oliver hears in the hesitation as Elio lists Columbia. 

“Of course, Elio,” his voice is sunshine-warm, the hope of rosy-fingered dawn creeping into his heart. To have Elio here, with him. Here, within a year. It is more than he could have ever imagined for himself. “As long as you’re sure this is what you want - that this isn’t sacrificing something that you would rather - because that’s not - “

“You’re what I want,” Elio’s voice is firm. He’s always known himself in ways Oliver is just beginning to become acquainted with this man he’s been a nodding-acquaintance to for twenty-four years. “I would be sacrificing if I went elsewhere. Of course I would hope for Julliard but papa says…” 

Oliver lets Elio’s voice fill his ears, drown out the sounds of the street, drown out the deafening silence that otherwise fills his overfilled but empty apartment. They talk, and Oliver remains engaged in conversation, not allowing worries to creep in through the cracks, holds onto the lifeline that stretches out through the coiled cord of the telephone, across the Atlantic, and connects him to the place, the person, who is his home. Elio eventually has to hang up, wary of running up too costly a long-distance bill with his parents, not wanting to lose the privilege of calling Oliver. They hang up but not before murmuring each other’s names, in lieu of other words. 

***

The sound that wakes Armie the following morning is less shrill than the train whistle he expects to hear, but is somehow much more annoying, and persistent. He groans, willing the sound to stop. When it doesn’t, he finally blinks his eyes open in annoyance and sits up, frantically searching for the offending source of the noise, ready to beat it into submission if necessary.

It’s coming from the table beside the bed, and when he realizes what it is, he freezes, blood running cold as reality slams into him like the train he was expecting to catch this morning. Instead, what he sees is the hotel room in Austin, the same one he’d fallen asleep in six weeks ago and hadn’t seen since. Until now.

The noise continues, now identified as the alarm he must have set on his phone, until an annoyed groan from beside him breaks him out of his frozen state. But then he remembers who the sound is coming from, and a whole new wave of panic crashes over him. Scrambling to turn the alarm off, he practically rips the phone from the charging cord and bolts into the bathroom, frantically scrolling through his recent calls until he finds Timmy’s name and presses the call button.

It rings several times before going to voicemail, and Armie lets out of frustrated huff before hanging up and immediately dialing again. It once again goes to voicemail, and it’s the same the next three times he tries. Finally he gives up calling and tries texting, sending a simple yet desperate, _< Dude, where the fuck are you?!>_

It takes almost ten minutes before he receives a reply, and he really hopes Elizabeth went back to sleep and isn’t wondering why he’s been in the bathroom for so long. When he looks down at the phone, he frowns at the words he sees staring back at him. _< I’m fine. So I guess we’re back, huh? Like it never happened. I just need a bit of time to process everything. I’ll catch up with you before the ceremony tonight. Promise.>_

Somehow none of those words were what he was expecting from the man who had told him he loved him just hours ago, and the icy fear returns with a vengeance, suddenly unsure where he and Timmy stand with everything. They hadn’t really discussed what would happen or made any kind of real plan for bringing their relationship into this life, having no idea when or if they would ever get back. And now that they are, and seemingly like no time had passed, it throws everything he thought he knew off-kilter.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to keep his thumbs from shaking as he types a reply to Timmy. _< But we’re good, right? You’re not regretting what happened, are you?>_

This time the response comes immediately, and a rush of relief floods through him when he sees the words, _< I don’t regret a second of it. Never will. We’re fine. Don’t worry.>_

It wasn’t the “I love you” he’d been hoping for, but it was still enough to reassure him that things would be ok between them, somehow. As long as he and Timmy were fine, he could deal with all the rest of it.

He remembers he’s supposed to spend the day with a couple of his buddies…and Timmy. Clearly that wasn’t happening, but when Liz hears that Timmy isn’t joining them, she asks if it would be ok to come along in his place. Armie is more than a little surprised – usually she has no interest in joining in on their “guy time” – but he can’t think of an actual reason for her not to come, so he hesitantly agrees.

Despite his friends being there to celebrate and spend time with him, Armie hardly pays attention to them for most of the time they’re out and about, too preoccupied with thinking about Timmy, where he might be, what he might be thinking about right now. There are several moments where he can feel Liz’s eyes on him, quietly watching him, but she never directly asks him anything, so he tries not to read too much into it.

When they get back to the hotel later, he takes a shower in preparation for the ceremony that evening. He comes out with a towel around his waist to find Liz in the beginning stages of applying her makeup. She doesn’t acknowledge his presence, but then he’s pretty used to that being the norm these days. So when he starts digging around in the closet to find the outfit he had picked out for this occasion and suddenly he hears her start to speak, it actually startles him.

“I’m glad after tonight, this will all finally be over. It’s been so many months on the road.”

The words stir up emotions in him that he can’t fully articulate, especially not to her, so he just responds with a non-committal, “Mmhmm,” as he continues to hunt for the correct pair of pants. He’s usually more organized, having everything hung together and ready to go. But he’d been more than a little distracted when he’d arrived in Austin, which feels like a million years ago now.

“I know it’s been hard for you to be away from the kids for so long, especially the baby.”

He’s only half-listening, not sure why she suddenly feels the need for small talk. When he finally finds what he was searching for, he grabs the rest of his ensemble and moves over to the bed, laying everything out nicely as he prepares to get changed. “Right, yeah.”

There’s nothing else for several minutes, and he almost forgets she had spoken at all, busying himself with getting dressed and trying not to look at his phone every twenty seconds to check for a text from Timmy.

“When we get back to L.A., I think we should try to work on our relationship.”

Armie freezes just as he’s pulling his pants up over his hips, fly hanging wide open as he tries to process what Liz just said. He doesn’t respond, not even really sure _what_ he would say if he had the function to form words. After a minute of silence, Liz finally gets up from where she’s seated and moves over to sit on the bed next to where he is still standing completely still. He watches her, but says nothing, waiting for some other clue as to where this is coming from all of the sudden.

“I know things haven’t been really…good between us for a while. Life got stressful with the kids and you working far from home so much and the bakeries, and we drifted apart. But I think with some help – maybe marriage counseling? – we could get back to where we used to be. We could be a family again.”

The entire situation is so shocking, he has to sit down. He perches on the bed next to her, though he’s careful not to sit close enough for them to touch. The whole thing feels so strange, like it’s happening to someone else, not him. They’ve been existing in this state for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it feels like for real emotions to be involved, not just the ones they played up in front of others to keep up the façade of a happy family. “Why now?”

Liz is quiet for a moment, and he swears he hears a tiny sniffle when she takes a deep breath before she speaks. “I just…I don’t want to lose you.”

The words pierce directly through to his heart, and he’s instantly transported back to the moment two weeks ago, to a dusty attic in northern Italy in 1983, where those same words had been spoken by the person that Armie had fallen completely in love with and isn’t sure how to breathe without. It had almost broken him when he hadn’t been able to give Timmy the reassurance he so desperately needed, knowing that making him a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep would be far worse than not making one at all.

And now, to hear those words coming from the woman he once swore to love forever, the one he’s spent close to a decade of his life with, who gave him the two most precious gifts in the world in his children, it breaks him in a very different way. It’s not the desire to comfort or reassure, but rather the guilt of abandoning something he promised to be true to. A promise he’d already broken by being with Timmy these last weeks, and one his heart had already all but accepted as being over, having decided that it was what would be best for both of them.

“Arms?”

Liz’s voice pulls him back to the present, to the very real wife who is sitting beside him waiting for him to respond to her plea to reconcile. But he has no idea what to say, how to react to hearing that it might not be over for her, and what it would mean if he went through with leaving her now.

After another minute wherein he struggles to say something, _anything_ to her suggestion, he feels a hand land softly just above his knee. “How about we get through tonight and talk about this more when we are back in L.A., just the two of us?”

It’s in that moment that he knows that she knows. They say the woman always knows, and it’s clear that somehow she’s worked out that something has changed between him and Timmy, and she’s scared of what that means. And yet, he can’t be upset or mad at her reaction. They are married, and that fact hasn’t changed, even if his feelings have.

He manages a shaky nod, trying not to let on that he’s been caught. That’s a conversation that needs to be had when they are not in the same state as Timmy, let alone when he’s about to present an award to him on stage in two hours. Apparently that’s enough to placate her for now, as she pats his knee gently and leans in to give him a small kiss on the cheek before going back to the mirror to resume applying the rest of her makeup.

It’s another hour before he finally receives the text he’s been waiting for all day, from Timmy. _< Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Down in the bar. Meet me?>_

Armie scrambles off the bed so fast he almost trips on his bag, and he throws a hurried, “I’m headed to the bar for a few,” over his shoulder before escaping through the door and practically running to the elevator.

Once he gets to the bar, he heads right to the same table he’d found Timmy at on the night he’d arrived, knowing that’s where he’ll be. Sure enough, he sees Timmy sipping on what looks like a rum and coke, looking every bit as gorgeous as he always does. His heart stutters in his chest, suddenly not sure of what to say or do as he approaches the small table.

And that’s when Timmy spots him, eyes flicking up and his features rearranging into an expression of relief and what he hopes is happiness to see him. “Hey Armie.”

He’s greeted with a solid hug, which he eagerly returns, even though every instinct he has is screaming to pull Timmy into a searing kiss. He knows that can’t do that here, not now. Not yet.

“Hey yourself. I didn’t…I missed you, today.” Armie attempts to keep things light, not wanting to assume anything until he knows what’s going on in Timmy’s head.

Timmy nervously scratches at his neck and bites his bottom lip before answering. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about just taking off. I just needed to, ya know, deal with being back here, suddenly. It was a lot to wake up to.”

And Armie gets it, completely. He wasn’t exactly the image of calm and collected when he realized what was going on either, so he can’t blame Timmy for having a bit of a freak out about being abruptly put back in their real lives with no explanation. “Right, yeah of course.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence, neither of them knowing how to proceed. Finally, Timmy clears his throat and speaks up again. “So listen, I had some time to think about everything, and I have a lot I want to say to you, but I have to go get ready for the awards. I just wanted to meet up with you and let you know I wasn’t abandoning you on your big night.”

The thought that Timmy would leave completely had never even entered his mind. “No, of course. I know you would never…”

“Right. Well, so maybe we can meet back up later, after the ceremony, just the two of us?”

He’s nodding before he can even get the word “yes” out of his mouth, ready to do whatever Timmy wanted, knowing there’s still so much for them to figure out.

A smile crosses Timmy’s face, and it’s the first time all day that he feels completely at ease. “Ok good. I gotta go, can’t be late to give you your big award.”

Despite not giving one single fuck about the award at this point, he is grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with Timmy, both during the ceremony and after, before they are once again faced with parting in opposite directions for the foreseeable future.

Armie watches Timmy leave the bar and head back upstairs to get ready, wanting to follow him but knowing it’s better to give him his space until they could truly be alone. Later.

The next time they see each other, it’s in front of a long line of cameras where they have to plaster on their most convincing smiles and try to act like there’s nothing between them but friendship. There’s a slightly uncomfortable moment when he thinks they’ve been found out, an awkward comment by Paul Thomas Anderson that was more than a bit suggestive, but luckily it blows over quickly enough and no one seems to pick up on it, or at least doesn’t comment further about it.

Once they get through the red carpet and Q&A, they all are seated in the auditorium to begin the awards. Timmy is seated behind him, and his neck prickles the entire time, feeling the heat of Timmy’s eyes on him, knowing he can see the way Liz touches his arm and leans in as she laughs at a joke the person currently on stage makes. It’s the most uncomfortable he’s ever been, and he can’t do a thing about it.

When Timmy goes up to give his speech, he stops breathing entirely. Normally Timmy asks him to go over the speeches he’s written, even though he never sticks to them anyway. But this one, he’d kept close to the vest, not even giving a hint of what he was going to say. But he knows whatever Timmy says will be amazing so it’s not like he’s worried.

But it turns out he’s completely unprepared for what Timmy had planned. He starts out a little rambly, which is pretty par for the course with Timmy. But when he finally reigns himself in and focuses on talking about Armie, it’s the most beautiful declaration of love he’s ever heard in his life, and he furiously blinks back the tears that are ready to fall at any minute. He’s never felt love like this before, and he can only hope that one day he can be the man who is worthy of it.

As Timmy finishes up, devolving into giggles as he tries to reign in his own emotions, Armie does his best to compose himself, knowing he still has to go up on stage and accept the award, and he can’t look like the emotional wreck he feels like inside. The hug he and Timmy share as he walks onstage is far too brief and his body aches as he pulls back and moves toward the podium. He’s not even sure what he says, sliding the confident and charismatic mask fully into place for the audience, but every cell in his body fully attuned to the boy standing about ten feet behind him, mind already racing ahead to what he would say to him when they got the chance to talk later.

By the time they make it to the reception after the awards, he’s practically itching to find Timmy and drag him somewhere private. But he’d disappeared as soon as they’d left the stage, Armie getting swarmed with people wanting to congratulate him and he quickly lost sight of where Timmy had gone.

And of course Liz was all about staying around and mingling with everyone, chatting with all the industry people and showing off pics off the kids. Her hand never leaves his back or arm, and he knows he should put in more of an effort to reciprocate, especially in front of all the people who believe they are still a happily married couple. So after twenty minutes and no sign of Timmy anywhere, he hesitantly drapes an arm around her waist, keeping a loose hold. That instantly earns him a hand on the chest and a genuine smile from Liz, and he tries not to ache with how it took something so little to make her look happier than he’s seen her in a long time.

Another half hour of networking and fielding hugs and congratulations before he finally spots Timmy in the corner of the room, talking quietly to one of the directors he knows Timmy has come to admire in recent years. He waits, attention now completely shifted from whatever Liz is saying to Maya Rudolph to staring across the room. The second the director gets pulled away to speak to someone else, Armie makes a break for it, disentangling from Liz and practically sprinting over to where Timmy is standing.

Timmy sees him just before he reaches him and breaks out into a smile. “Hey, there he is, the man of the hour!”

Armie scoffs and rolls his eyes, not wanting to talk about the dumb award. “Whatever. Listen, Timmy…”

But Timmy stops him, smile fading just enough for Armie to notice, but not enough that anyone else would. “Armie, it’s fine. I know.”

Armie freezes, not sure what Timmy means but already sensing it isn’t good. “Wait. Know what?”

Timmy lets out a long sigh, expression shifting so subtly he almost misses it. But when he looks closely, he can see the hint of sadness behind his eyes, the wistful air about him as he takes in another deep breath. “You’re staying with her, aren’t you? That’s what you’re going to tell me.”

The words catch him completely off guard, not prepared to face this conversation yet, not when he hadn’t even made any final decisions himself yet. “I…I don’t. We haven’t…”

Before he can continue stuttering out more nonsense, Timmy stops him with a hand on his arm. “It’s ok, Armie. I get it. I always knew this was a possibility. Maybe even a probability. And I allowed myself to go through with it anyway, and I don’t regret it. But remember what you made me promise, on the side of the mountain? You said that whatever we decided needed to be right, for both of us. And if this is right for you, I can accept that. She’s your wife, and the mother of your kids. If you can make it work with her, then you should.”

Armie wants to tell him he’s wrong, that it isn’t what he wants at all, but he can’t seem to make the words come out, the part of him that’s still conflicted holding them hostage and refusing to release them without the ransom that he knows he owes.

But just as he’s gathering the courage to pay it, he feels a hand slide up his back, then another wrap around his bicep, claiming, possessive. “Timmy, babe! That was one hell of a speech you gave up there! You did great, sweetie!”

Armie can hear the slight edge in her voice, is sure Timmy picked up on it as well. And yet he’s helpless to do anything but let whatever happens now play out. But Timmy doesn’t bristle at the clear challenge being thrown at him. Instead, he gives her a real smile and thanks her sincerely before turning back to Armie. “I’m gonna let you two get back to it. I’m headed out early in the morning so I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Wait, I thought your flight wasn’t until the afternoon.” He remembered Timmy sending him his flight itinerary, and their flights out of Austin had only been about an hour apart, albeit headed in opposite directions.

Timmy gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I switched it to an earlier flight. I have a lot of stuff to figure out before I have to head off to London, so I figured it’d be better not to waste a full day with travel.” Armie is about to protest further, but he feels the hand on his arm tighten its grip, pulling him closer. “Anyway, have a safe trip back, guys. It was great to see you both one more time.”

Armie can barely breathe as he watches Timmy move in to hug Liz, and then when he feels those delicate arms wrap around him, he feels like he will crumble into dust the second Timmy lets go.

But he doesn’t. He manages to stay standing upright, eyes burning as he watches Timmy walk away from him, from _them_. The only evidence left to remind him that what they shared together in Crema was real is his heart, which shatters into a thousand tiny pieces as Timmy disappears from sight, and his life.

***

Oliver spends the next week trying to re-engage with what he wishes to retain of his life here. Reviewing and revising the work that resulted from his time in Italy, preparing for the semester ahead. He imagines the months stretched ahead of him, ten of them, if he’s lucky, if he can rely on the universe once more. Ten months, devoid of much except his work and occasionally hearing Elio’s voice, robbed as they are back in this time of being able to see each other, and perhaps receiving letters by mail, robbed as they are of the instant connection that a text message or even an email provides. 

Oliver’s mind begins to churn. But this time it is not worry that is dredged up, but dreams. Dreams of “what if” and “maybe” and “perhaps.” 

He takes those dreams and makes them something more tangible. Telephone calls at hours when Elio is not available. Visits to his advisor and others in his department. More telephone calls. A visit to a travel agent. A notice pinned to a bulletin board at his university. Cardboard boxes filled and taped and stacked in a shopping cart bumping along the uneven sidewalks to the post office. Until finally.

The unbearable heat of summer clings to these last weeks. Oliver puts on khaki shorts and Billowy. He had found the shirt folded in his luggage when he finally unpacked, a note attached that read “I don’t need this, I have you.” He has not taken Elio’s faith in him lightly and has allowed the hope that fills the cracks that worry once did to buoy him to taking his own leap of faith. 

He takes a taxi to a plane to another plane to a train and finally a car with a warm and friendly face. Gravel crunches beneath his converse as he walks up to the door of the villa and knocks. He places the suitcases he carries on either side of him, bracing for impact. He hears a shout from inside “Elio! Per favore!” 

The large door creaks open and Oliver sees Elio’s face turn from sullen at having been asked by his parents to please answer the door to shock as he flings himself into Oliver’s arms. “Oliver! Is it really you?” 

“I certainly hope it is!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Oliver! Oliver! So good to see you!” Oliver hears the Perlmans come to the door, the laughter at having successfully kept this secret clear in their voices. 

Elio twists his face around, his arms still around Oliver. “Did you know?” 

“Oh tesoro, yes, we did,” Annella laughs and wraps an arm around Pro’s waist. “We all wanted you to be surprised. Are you?”

Elio once again buries his face in Oliver’s shoulder, in Billowy, and his muffled voice admits, “I am.”

“Come my dear, let’s leave these boys to each other,” Professor Perlman suggests and Oliver hears the faint click of the door behind them. 

He and Elio stand, embracing, as he feels his shirt grow damp. 

“Hey, hey, what’s this?”

“What are you - what are you doing here? Is it a visit?”

“A type of visit.”

“A type of visit?”

“I - I couldn’t wait nearly a year to see you, to be with you. I’ve arranged, thanks to your father, to take a sabbatical in Milan. I’ll teach some courses at the American school there, continue to assist your father, and put the finishing touches on my manuscript.”

“But your - “

“It’s all been approved by my department. Believe me they’re pleased to have someone as renowned as your father asking for my assistance directly. I’ve sublet my apartment and your parents have been kind in helping me find a small flat not far from where you live.” Suddenly, there it is again, the familiar companions of doubt and worry. “Unless, unless this is too much…” 

Elio could have been looking forward to a carefree final year before university, before being tied down in an adult relationship. He could not want Oliver to intrude in his life, wanting instead to build their life someplace he doesn’t already have roots, friends, activities. 

“Too much?” Elio pulls back and looks at him, his eyebrows draw together for a moment before he laughs. “Never enough” he whispers against Oliver’s lips before kissing him. And Oliver had not known, would have never guessed, it is possible to grin and kiss at the same time. But it is and he does. He is here, where he belongs, with Elio, and he once again promises, “I love you.” 

***

Armie’s palms start to sweat and he rubs them furiously on his new pair of jeans that he’d bought specifically for this. Tyler had commented on how amazing his ass looked in them when he’d tried them on a few days prior, and it might have been that very moment that had fully convinced him he was doing the right thing.

He’d spent the better part of the last two weeks wrestling with everything that had happened between Austin and then Crema, and then Austin again. And though he knew it made logical sense to try and stick things out and make his marriage work, he came to the realization that love is rarely logical. And it was then he knew what he had to do.

Raising one hand into a fist, he takes a deep breath and knocks on the apartment door in front of him. It takes a few seconds, but finally he hears some scuffling around, the sound of something clattering to the floor and a muttered, “Fuck,” before a louder, “Hang on, just a sec!” echoes from behind the door.

When the door finally opens to Timmy’s flushed face, Armie feels like he can finally breathe again. Clearly Timmy hadn’t been expecting him, the shock written over every inch of his beautiful face. They’d exchanged a few brief texts over the past two weeks, but they both kept things very on-the-surface, afraid to dig too deep into something they weren’t ready to revisit. And when Armie had finally decided to fly to New York to see Timmy, he’d kept his plans a secret, wanting the element of surprise so Timmy couldn’t try to talk him out of it.

“Armie, wha--?”

It’s all he can manage before Armie blurts out, “I love you.”

“—doing….here?” He seems to hear Armie words as he stutters out the last of his question, the expression on his face now bordering on comical with how high his eyebrows have shot up to practically his hairline. “I… _what_?”

“Can I come in? I mean, I can keep professing my love to you out in the hallway for your whole building to hear if you want, but—”

He’s suddenly being yanked inside the small apartment, Timmy’s hand curled tightly into his shirt as he closes the door soundly behind them before he continues his line of questions. “What the fuck? Armie, what are you doing here? Where’s Liz?”

He decides it’s somehow easier to tackle the last question first. “Liz is in L.A. Where she is staying. Because I told her I thought we should get a divorce.”

The way Timmy’s mouth drops open and hangs there in gaping awe at Armie’s declaration would probably make him laugh out loud and mock him endlessly under any other circumstances. But right now, it’s possibly the cutest reaction he’s ever seen.

“And I’m here because, like I said, I’m in love with you, and I kinda think when you’re in love with someone, physical proximity is a good thing. So I got on a plane to come find you, because I have been going crazy in L.A. without you and I needed to see you. To tell you. That I love you. That I want to be with you. And that the rest of the world will just have to deal with it. Because I’m not willing to wait twenty years to be with you. I’m rewriting the ending of this fucking story and making it a happy one. Because I know in my heart that it’s what’s right, for both of us.”

He can see the tears shimmering in Timmy’s eyes, and he knows Timmy can see the ones in his own that mirror them. “Are you…are you fucking serious right now? This isn’t a dream or some cruel joke? I’m not gonna wake up and start this day over again to find out you were never really here?”

Armie takes a shuffling step forward, far enough that he can grab Timmy’s hand in his own and bring it up to his heart. “I’m really here, Tim. And I’m dead serious. This is real. _We_ are real. Tell me you want this, too.”

There’s a high-pitched noise that’s a cross somewhere between a laugh and a sob that escapes from Timmy’s throat, and it takes them both by surprise. “Of course I want this, you dumbass!” He barely has time to laugh at the affectionate callback to the morning after their first night together before he has a mouthful of Timmy, who has launched himself into his arms and is attacking his lips like he’s a starving man devouring his first meal in weeks.

The kiss goes on until neither of them have any breath left in their lungs and only the sheer will to live forces them apart. But Timmy doesn’t waste any time peppering tiny kisses to every part of Armie’s body he can reach with his mouth. Armie can’t stop the grin that breaks out on his face at the attack. “Ok, ok! Now, about your first question…”

Timmy stops, an almost cartoonish sound coming from his throat in confusion. “What question?”

“You asked me ‘what the fuck?’ I think the answer to that lies somewhere in your bedroom. So if you don’t mind…” Armie’s grin slides into an easy smirk as he looks Timmy up and down, body already aching to be skin to skin with him again.

Watching Timmy’s brain process the turn of events is one of the best things he’s ever seen in his life, and he really can’t hold back the laugh then when things click and Timmy frantically grabs at Armie’s hand and practically drags him across the small living area and into his bedroom with a look of determination that could win a world war.

Later, when they are lying tangled together in Timmy’s bed, Timmy already sound asleep sprawled across his chest, Armie sends a silent thank you up to whatever god or fate or random luck of the universe that had given them the opportunity to find each other through Elio and Oliver’s story. And because of that, their possibilities aren’t so impossible after all.


End file.
